SIDNEY 


BY 


MARGARET   DELAND 

AUTHOR   OF    "JOHN    WARD,    PREACHER,"    "FLORIDA    DAYS5' 
AND    "  THE   OLD  GARDEN  " 


O  me !  what  profits  it  to  put 
An  idle  case?     If  Death  were  seen 
At  first  as  Death,  Love  had  not  been, 

Or  been  in  narrowest  working  shut. 

IN  MEMOKIAM 


TENTH  THOUSAND 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MTFFLTN   AND   COMPANY 


1892 


Copyright,  1890, 
BY  IIOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  8.  A. 
Electrotype^  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


To 

LORIN   DELAND 

THE  STORY  HE   HAS   HELPED   ME  TELL 

IS 
DEDICATED. 


May  2glk,  i8go. 


SIDNEY. 


I. 

"  YES,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  "  they  are  really  the  most 
extraordinary  people.  Mortimer  Lee  began  to  be 
queer  as  soon  as  he  was  married,  and  his  wife  was 
always  a  silly  sort  of  woman  ;  their  living  in  the 
south  on  account  of  her  health  was  one  of  her  ab 
surd  ideas,  —  it  was  entirely  unnecessary.  She  was 
born  here  in  Mercer,  you  know  ;  that  house  they  live 
in  now  was  left  her  by  her  grandfather.  When  she 
died,  Mortimer  Lee  came  back  to  it  with  Sidney. 
He  made  the  excuse  that  he  wanted  the  child  to  be 
brought  up  near  her  mother's  people  (though  they  've 
all  died  out  now),  but  I  think  that  he  wanted  to  get 
back  to  Mercer  himself.  I  knew  him  before  he  was 
married.  Ah,  he  was  very  different  in  those  days. 
Marriage  ruined  him.  Marriage  has  more  effect 
upon  a  man's  character  than  upon  a  woman's.  Just 
remember  that,  sir  !  " 

Alan  Crossan  laughed.  "  And  always  for  the 
worse  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Some  men  cannot  be  worse,"  said  Mrs.  Paul 
significantly  ;  "  but  for  Major  Lee,  all  these  theories 
of  his  developed  after  he  met  his  wife." 

"They  were  the  effect  of  her  death,  though, 
were  n't  they  ?  "  the  doctor  asked. 


SIDNEY. 


cpui-fee,"  ^nswtfred  his  hostess  sharply;  "but 
if  he  had  n't  had  such  a  wife  to  die,  he  would  not 
have  been  so  affected.  She  was  a  woman  of  abso 
lutely  no  sense,  I  tell  you,  —  some  people  called  her 
handsome,  though  I  never  could  see  it  ;  but  that  he 
grieved  so  wickedly  for  her  shows  the  result  of  hav- 
-  ing  lived  with  her  for  ten  years.  For  really,  you 
know,  by  nature,  Mortimer  Lee  is  no  fool  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  said  the  young  man,  smiling. 

"  I  did  n't  see  him  while  she  was  alive,"  proceeded 
Mrs.  Paul,  —  "they  lived  somewhere  in  Virginia; 
Sidney  must  have  been  about  three  years  old  when 
her  mother  died,  and  he  came  back;  let  me  see, 
—  yes,  he  has  been  here  twenty  -two  years,  cer 
tainly.  Dear  me!  I  did  not  realize  that  Sidney 
was  so  old.  He  took  her  education  in  hand  as  soon 
as  she  could  talk  ;  and  you  see  the  result.  She  is 
her  father  over  again." 

"  Is  she  ?  "  the  doctor  said.  "  I  remember  that  she 
was  unlike  anybody  else  when  we  were  children,  be 
fore  I  went  abroad  ;  but  that  was  fifteen  years  ago." 

Alan  Crossan  sighed.  There  had  been  many 
changes  in  these  fifteen  years  ;  scarcely  anything  re 
mained  as  he  had  known  it  then.  Only  the  two  old 
houses,  Mrs.  Paul's  and  Major  Lee's,  looked  as  they 
had  looked  when  he  and  his  mother  had  come  to  say 
good-by,  before  they  sailed  for  Germany,  where  he 
was  to  be  educated.  His  mother  had  died  there, 
leaving  him  at  twenty  to  drift  down  into  Italy,  where 
the  years  had  wrapped  him  in  a  lazy  dream,  and 
where  he  had  studied  a  little,  painted  a  little,  and 
fancied  that  he  had  thought  a  great  deal.  Indeed, 


SIDNEY.  3 

this  sunny  life  might  have  gone  on  indefinitely,  if 
the  sharp  distress  of  another  man  had  not  aroused 
him  to  the  thought  of  coming  back  to  America. 
With  that  thought  came  a  realization  of  the  useless- 
ness  of  his  life,  and  a  desire  for  the  new  interest  of 
action.  To  be  sure,  he  had  practised  his  profession 
in  the  little  Italian  town  where  he  had  first  met 
Eobert  Steele  ;  but  it  had  never  absorbed  him,  any 
more  than  his  violin  had  absorbed  him,  or  his  wood- 
carving,  or  his  painting.  He  was  at  heart  a  dilet 
tante,  he  told  himself;  but  this  reflection  did  not 
disturb  him,  for  he  declared  that  he  was  no  more 
responsible  for  his  disposition  than  for  the  color  of 
his  eyes,  and  he  was  almost  as  powerless  to  change 
the  one  as  the  other.  But  when  he  came  to  observe, 
curiously,  though  with  sympathy,  Robert  Steele's 
pain,  he  began  to  be  half  ashamed  of  himself  be 
cause  he  had  never  suffered,  and  never  very  greatly 
cared  about  anything. 

"  Odd,"  he  thought,  "  that  it  is  the  sight  of  trouble 
which  makes  me  want  to  live  more  earnestly ;  for 
the  deeper  you  live  the  more  trouble  you  have.  But 
I  suppose  trouble  is  a  man's  birthright,  and  instinct 
makes  him  seek  it.  Well,  I  am  going  home,  and  1 
am  going  to  do  some  work  in  the  world  before  I 
die." 

Such  an  impulse  was  amusing,  he  said,  but  that 
did  not  change  his  purpose.  "  I  will  go  back  to 
America  with  you,"  he  announced  to  Mr.  Steele. 
"  I  shall  make  a  well  man  of  you  yet,  Bob.  I  shall 
be  your  physician  :  all  rich  men  have  a  physician  at 
their  elbow,  and,  thank  Heaven,  you  're  a  rich  man 


4  SIDNEY. 

now.  Don't  groan,  —  it 's  a  good  thing.  But  if  it 
distresses  you  too  much,  why,  my  fees  will  doubtless 
be  a  comfort.  Yes,  we  '11  go  back  to  Mercer.  There 
are  half  a  dozen  families  there  who  will  have  to  em 
ploy  me,  out  of  sentiment.  That 's  the  advantage 
of  being  the  son  of  your  father,  —  it  creates  senti 
ment.  And  they  all  know  you,  of  course.  I  tell 
you,  old  man,  you  '11  be  a  coward  if  you  don't  go 
back  there  and  live  it  down.  Come,  now,  when  shall 
we  start?" 

There  was  a  cheerful  certainty  about  this  young 
man's  determinations  which  made  people  incapable 
of  resisting  them.  His  friends  yielded  to  his  wishes 
with  protestations  which  were  not  often  serious,  be 
cause  they  were  known  at  the  outset  to  be  useless. 
Robert  Steele  was  too  sad  and  too  indifferent  to  pro 
test  ;  and  so  it  came  about  that  they  found  them 
selves,  that  autumn,  settled  in  Mercer,  in  a  house 
that  belonged  to  Alan,  which  an  obliging  tenant  had 
just  vacated.  The  doctor  had  to  admit,  however, 
that  sentiment  did  not  move  the  half-dozen  families  as 
it  should  have  done,  and  patients  came  very  slowly. 

But  Mr.  Steele,  at  least,  had  not  been  forgotten. 
The  young  man  who  had  invested  trust  money  in  a 
certain  company  of  which  he  was  himself  a  director, 
and  then,  seeing  that  values  were  about  to  fall,  had 
refused  to  sell  without  proclaiming  the  future  depre 
ciation  of  the  stock,  was  toouextraordinary  a  person 
to  be  forgotten.  If  Robert  Steele  had  embezzled 
half  a  million  dollars,  the  community  could  scarcely 
have  been  more  startled  and  horrified  than  when  it 
learned  of  his  abnormal  honesty  which  had  permitted 


SIDNEY.  5 

five  thousand  shares  of  stock  to  become  worthless  in 
his  hands.  The  money  he  had  invested  had  been 
his  mother's,  and  that  Mrs.  Steele's  death  was  has 
tened  by  her  bitter  and  futile  anger  at  her  son's 
wicked  quixotism  could  not  be  doubted,  least  of  all 
by  her  son.  The  misery  of  that  time  left  its  imprint 
upon  his  soul,  and  it  was  the  sarcasm  of  fate  that  at 
the  end  of  two  years  the  stock  which  had  been 
thought  worthless  slowly  regained  its  value.  What 
did  he  want  with  money,  while  his  mother's  re 
proaches  still  rang  in  his  ears  ? 

It  was  at  this  crisis  that  Alan  had  found  him  in 
the  little  sunshiny  Italian  town,  sick  in  mind  and 
body,  and  blurring  the  misery  of  memory  by  a  cer 
tain  daily  prick  in  the  arm.  He  had  begun  this  use 
of  morphine  to  make  bodily  pain  endurable,  for  he 
had  been  very  ill,  and  after  that  the  tortured  mind 
demanded  it.  To  the  doctor,  Robert  Steele  had  at 
first  been  merely  an  interesting  case.  A  man  strong 
enough  to  perform  an  act  of  moral  heroism,  but 
weak  enough  to  seek  relief  in  morphine,  was  an 
anomaly  which  suggested  defective  cerebration  to 
the  physician.  But  after  a  while,  the  sweetness  of 
Robert's  nature,  his  noble  ideality,  appealed  to 
Alan  with  a  demand  for  respect  which  grew  into 
reverence. 

"  I  cannot  understand  it,"  he  acknowledged 
frankly  to  the  sick  man.  "  You  were  a  fool  about 
that  stock  beyond  a  doubt,  but  it  was  a  glorious 
folly ;  and  you  are  a  coward  now,  with  nothing 
glorious  about  it.  But  here  I  am,  going  back  to 
America  with  you.  Well,  such  capacity  for  enthu 
siasm  proves  that  I  am  still  young." 


6  SIDNEY. 

This  dull  November  afternoon  the  doctor  had  been 
telling  Mrs.  Paul  of  certain  noble  traits  in  Kobert 
Steele,  for  whom  she  had  nothing  but  contempt,  and 
he  had  spoken  of  Major  Lee's  kindness  to  the  sick 
man,  to  which  she  replied  that  that  was  only  because 
Mortimer  Lee  was  himself  unintelligible  ;  and  from 
that  their  talk  had  drifted  to  those  theories  which 
had  been  developed  in  the  life  and  education  of  the 
major's  daughter. 

A  chill  mist  had  brought  an  early  dusk  into  the 
garden  outside,  but  there  was  a  fire  smouldering  on 
the  hearth,  which  made  a  little  halo  of  brightness 
about  Mrs.  Paul.  The  room  was  full  of  shadows, 
although  the  Venetian  blinds  had  been  drawn  up  to 
the  very  tops  of  the  long  windows,  so  that  the  gray 
afternoon  light  might  delay  Davids  with  the  lamps 
as  long  as  possible.  That  John  Paul,  sitting  close 
to  one  of  the  windows,  his  big  head  showing  like  a 
silhouette  against  the  pale  background  of  the  sky, 
could  not  see  to  read  his  paper  did  not  trouble  his 
mother  at  all.  Of  course  he  had  not  protested  ;  to 
John  Paul's  mind  there  were  very  few  occasions  that 
were  worthy  of  protest.  But  his  mother  was  aware 
that  he  had  put  his  paper  down,  and  was  waiting  for 
the  lights.  Indeed,  it  would  have  been  hard  to 
name  any  circumstance  in  her  own  house  of  which 
Mrs.  Paul  was  not  aware.  She  made  no  comment 
upon  it,  however ;  instead,  she  repeated  Alan's 
words. 

"  Fifteen  years  ago !  "  she  said,  lifting  one  deli 
cate  hand  to  shield  her  face  from  the  fire.  "  Is  it 
possible  that  you  have  been  away  fifteen  years? 


SIDNEY.  1 

Shame  on  you  !  You  deserve  to  find  yourself  for 
gotten.  Indeed,  I  should  have  forgotten  you  ten 
times  over,  except  that  I  knew  your  father  so  well. 
Yes,  you  are  right  in  saying  that  Sidney  was  dif 
ferent  from  other  children  ;  perhaps  it  was  because 
she  knew  so  few  of  them.  That  was  another  of  Mor 
timer  Lee's  beautiful  theories,  —  that  she  should  not 
know  girls  of  her  own  age.  I  suppose  he  was  afraid 
she  might  acquire  some  healthy  ideas.  But  he 
needn't  have  been.  Good  sense  is  not  catching. 
Look  at  Sally  Lee.  I've  done  my  best  for  her.  I 
suppose  I  've  seen  her  nearly  every  day  for  twenty 
years,  —  but  she  will  always  be  a  goose.  She  can't 
develop  brains  in  her  old  age.  I  call  Sally  old,  in 
spite  of  her  ringlets.  Dear  me  !  why  is  it  that  an 
unmarried  woman  does  not  know  how  to  grow  old  ?  " 

The  flicker  of  the  fire  showed  a  glimmering  smile 
in  Alan's  eyes.  He  was  standing  with  his  elbow  on 
the  high  mantelpiece,  looking  down  at  the  keen  old 
face  before  him. 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Miss  Sally,"  he  said.  "  She 
belongs  to  the  salt  of  the  earth." 

Mrs.  Paul  lifted  her  hands  impatiently.  "  Good  ?  " 
she  said,  —  "  of  course  ;  but,  Lord,  how  uninteresting 
goodness  can  be  !  "  Her  careless  glance  rested  on 
his  face,  and  lengthened  into  a  steady  look.  "  Alan," 
she  declared,  "  you  are  really  a  very  handsome  man. 
You  remind  me  of  your  father." 

The  doctor  smiled,  —  and  amusement  will  always 
save  a  man  from  embarrassment ;  "  I  thought  I 
looked  like  my  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  your  mother  ?  "  she  said  carelessly.     "  I  'm 


8  SIDNEY. 

sure  I  don't  remember  her  well  enough  to  say.  Yes, 
you  have  a  beautiful  face  ;  but  there  is  nothing  be 
hind  it.  It  is  the  face  of  a  dreamer.  It  would  serve 
Mortimer  Lee  right  if  Sidney  fell  in  love  with  you  ; 
but  she  sha'n't.  I  suppose  you  have  about  two  cents 
to  live  on  ?  But,  seriously,  I  hope  great  things  from 
Robert  Steele's  being  in  town." 

"  Great  things  ?  "  said  Alan  lightly.  "  For  whom  ? 
Sidney  ?  " 

"  Of  course  for  Sidney,"  returned  the  other. 
"  For  whom  else  ?  " 

"  Well,  there 's  Miss  Sally ;  and  as  Sidney  is 
never  to  marry  "  — 

"Oh,  fudge!  Sally!  Don't  talk  to  me  about 
Sally,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Paul.  "  If  the  young  man 
has  lost  his  wits,  you  had  better  never  take  him  to 
the  major's  again,  —  that 's  all  I  have  to  say.  And 
as  for  Sidney,  of  course  she  '11  marry.  We  all  know 
what  paternal  plans  amount  to  when  a  girl  falls  in 
love,"  -  —  she  seemed  to  brush  aside  an  invisible 
feather.  "  Beside,  she  must  marry.  What  is  going 
to  support  her  when  her  father  's  gone  ?  And  he 
can't  live  forever.  He  's  quite  old  now ;  sixty-five, 
at  least.  Yes,  Robert  Steele's  money  is  just  the  thing 
that  family  needs.  I  hope  you  will  make  him  call 
there  often." 

"  If  you  remember  Robert  Steele,"  returned  the 
doctor,  "  you  will  know  that  you  can't  arrange  things 
for  him.  And  if  you  decide  that  he  is  to  fall  in  love 
with  Sidney,  it  will  be  the  very  thing  he'll  not  do." 

"  Fudge  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Paul  again.  "  My  dear 
Alan,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about. 


SIDNEY.  9 

He  can't  help  it.  Neither  could  you,  if  you  had 
anything  to  support  a  wife  upon." 

"  But  poor  Steele,"  protested  the  doctor,  —  "  why 
should  you  want  his  heart  broken  ?  If  the  major  is 
in  earnest  that  Sidney  shall  not  marry,  and  if  she 
agrees  with  him  "  — 

"  Of  course  he  is  in  earnest,  and  of  course  Sidney 
agrees  with  him,"  Mrs.  Paul  broke  in ;  "  but  a 
theory  cannot  change  the  order  of  nature,  my  young 
friend.  Really,  I  almost  lose  my  patience  when  I 
think  of  it.  Of  all  ridiculous  notions  !  A  girl  must 
not  marry,  forsooth,  because  her  husband  may  die, 
and  so  she  may  be  unhappy.  As  though  to  be  a 
widow  with  plenty  of  money  were  the  hardest  thing 
in  the  world  !  " 

"  You  have  not  found  it  so  ? "  inquired  Alan 
amiably. 

"  You  are  impertinent,  young  man  !  "  declared 
his  companion,  and  then  she  laughed.  "  I  suppose 
that  is  the  reason  I  like  you.  But  these  ideas  of 
Mortimer  Lee's,  —  I  am  sure  that  they  grew  out  of 
some  disappointment  after  his  wife's  death.  I  shall 
never  believe  that  such  a  man  as  he  could  blast  his 
whole  life  because  of  a  chit  of  a  girl,  —  though  I 
have  no  doubt  that  he  was  attached  to  her.  He  may 
have  loved  some  one  else,  for  instance,  but  thought, 
because  he  was  a  widower,  —  a  man  is  really  settled 
when  he  is  a  widower,  —  or  perhaps  —  But  why 
do  I  talk  to  you  ?  You  don't  know  anything  about 
Mortimer  Lee  ;  I  do.  I  watched  him  in  those  days, 
I  can  tell  you.  Johnny's  father  had  just  died,  and 
naturally  I  —  understood  him.  Lord  !  how  little 


10  SIDNEY. 

sense  men  have  !  "  She  drew  her  eyebrows  together, 
and  frowned,  absently,  at  the  fire.  The  room  was 
quite  dark  now,  and  under  cover  of  the  shadows 
John  Paul  yawned.  He  had  risen,  and  stood  like  a 
spot  of  burly  darkness  against  the  fading  oblong  of 
the  window.  He  was  not  interested  in  the  conversa 
tion  about  the  Lees  :  perhaps  because  the  topic  was 
far  from  new  ;  perhaps  because  he  was  wondering 
how  that  speech  upon  the  tariff,  which  he  had  put 
down  when  it  grew  too  dark  to  read,  had  ended. 
With  his  hands  behind  him,  he  stood,  while  his 
mother  talked,  staring  out  into  the  forlorn  and 
frosted  garden,  which  lay  in  shivering  nakedness 
under  the  cold  sky.  This  garden,  inclosed  by  its 
brick  wall,  extended  behind  the  house,  as  well  as  in 
a  narrow  strip  on  each  side  of  it.  In  front,  below 
the  drawing-room  windows,  there  were  no  flower 
beds  ;  only  a  bit  of  decorous  lawn  ending  in  three 
terraces,  and  then  a  hedge  along  the  low  stone  wall 
upon  the  street,  which  some  twenty  years  ago  had 
been  a  country  road  ;  but  the  street  had  been  graded, 
so  that  now  the  old  house  was  high  above  its  level. 
The  dreary  outskirts  of  the  bustling  little  man 
ufacturing  town  had  pushed  closer  and  closer  upon 
the  house  ;  a  mill  loomed  up  in  the  street  below,  and 
now  and  then  a  belching  flame  from  a  giant  chimney 
sent  a  flare  of  light  through  the  fan-shaped  window 
above  the  white  front  door,  or  a  fitful  gleam  across 
its  brass  knocker  and  knob.  The  hall  within  was 
wide  and  cheerless,  although  it  had  plenty  of  light ; 
the  leaded  windows  on  either  side  of  the  door  threw 
two  lines  of  fluctuating  brightness  across  the  old 


SIDNEY.  11 

Turkey  carpet ;  and  opposite  the  drawing-room  door 
—  for  the  house  was  not  double  —  there  was  a  wide, 
low  window,  full  of  many  small  panes  of  glass.  It 
looked  only  upon  the  blank  of  the  garden  wall,  dark 
with  ivy,  and  across  a  small  grass  plot  on  which 
upon  a  pedestal,  was  a  sadly  rusted  iron  Magdalen 
with  a  cross  upon  her  knees.  The  sunshine  poured 
through  this  window  for  a  little  while  in  the  morning, 
and  the  dimity  curtains  were  always  pushed  back, 
that  all  day  long  the  hall  might  have  as  much  light 
as  possible ;  yet  it  was  never  anything  but  gloomy ; 
dark  family  portraits  in  tarnished  frames  followed 
the  wide  staircase,  and  a  faded  engraving  of  the 
Trial  of  Effie  Deans,  hanging  between  the  entrance 
to  the  dining-room  and  the  green  baize  door  of  the 
drawing-room,  added  to  its  solemnity.  Under  the 
staircase  stood  a  row  of  tall  old  fire-buckets,  and  a 
rosewood  table  for  the  candles  and  lamps,  which, 
however,  were  never  lighted  until  a  certain  hour,  no 
matter  how  the  late  afternoon  might  darken  with 
fog  and  mist. 

Mrs.  Paul's  rules  were  not  to  be  broken  by  such 
things  as  wind  and  weather.  And  as  for  cheerless- 
ness, —  her  house  suited  her,  she  said,  and  other 
people  were  not  obliged  to  live  in  it.  It  did  suit 
her,  although  sometimes  she  resented  the  loud  in 
trusion  of  the  approaching  town,  but  it  was  more 
with  the  petulance  which  is  an  occupation  than 
because  of  any  genuine  annoyance.  The  felting 
in  the  windows,  and  the  green  baize  door  closing 
with  noiseless  tightness,  shut  out  the  clamor  of  the 
street  below.  Furthermore,  there  was  always  the 


12  SIDNEY. 

consciousness  that,  if  she  wished,  she  could  move 
away,  as  half  a  dozen  other  families  had  done; 
their  estates  being  swallowed  up  by  streets,  and 
their  dignified  old  houses  turned  into  mills,  or  fac 
tories,  or  great  tenements.  When  money  is  to  be 
considered,  human  beings  often  display  a  curious 
indifference  to  the  roofs  which  have  sheltered  their 
joys  and  sorrows  and  their  sacred  death-beds.  But 
it  was  not  any  sentimental  regard  for  her  old  house 
which  kept  Mrs.  Paul  here  on  the  hill,  nor  was  it 
altogether  the  feeling  of  superiority  in  being  loyal 
to  traditions  to  which  her  neighbors  had  been 
faithless. 

Her  sense  of  duty,  she  declared  more  than  once, 
was  really  morbidly  strong.  "  Of  course,"  she  said 
candidly  to  Miss  Sally,  "  you  and  Sidney  are  not 
fit  companions  for  me,  and  Mortimer  Lee  never 
chooses  to  come  to  see  me  ;  but  what  would  you  do 
without  me  ?  Heaven  knows  what  would  become 
of  Sidney  if  I  were  not  here  to  teach  her  manners. 
No,  I  will  not  give  you  up." 

Little  by  little,  all  her  interests  had  centred  upon 
the  major's  household.  It  was  ten  years  since  the 
last  of  her  older  neighbors  had  moved  away ;  and 
although  no  one  knew  that  they  had  ceased  to  remem 
ber,  or  were  themselves  forgotten,  these  friendships 
belonged  only  to  the  past. 

u  Yes,"  Mrs.  Paul  explained  to  the  doctor,  "  my 
first  thought  is  for  Sidney.  "With  a  simpleton  for 
an  aunt  and  a  wicked  infidel  for  a  father,  what 
would  become  of  her  if  it  were  not  for  me  ?  And  I 
mean  that  she  shall  be  married,  I  can  tell  you  that, 


SIDNEY.  13 

—  if  it  were  only  to  teach  Mortimer  Lee  a  lesson ! 
Everybody  knows  Robert  Steele's  folly,  but  it 's  all 
over  and  past.  I  'm  not  one  to  remember  a  man's 
sins  against  him.  Besides,  he  has  his  money  back 
again,  and  this  time  he  '11  keep  it.  Now,  remember, 
you  are  to  take  him  with  you  to  the  major's  every 
chance  you  get.  I  shall  invite  him  to  meet  Sidney 
here,  too.  It  won't  be  the  first  time  I  've  given 
Providence  a  hint.  Johnny  knows  that.  I  was 
bound  he  should  n't  have  her,  for  Sidney  must  marry 
a  rich  man,  and  Johnny  has  n't  a  cent,  except  what 
I  choose  to  give  him." 

John  Paul  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  the  dusk,  but 
did  not  speak. 

"  It 's  a  pity  he  is  n't  well,"  she  continued.  "  What 
did  you  say  was  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say,"  Alan  answered  briefly. 

Mrs.  Paul  laughed,  with  an  impatient  gesture. 
"  Oh,  you  young  doctors  !  "  she  said,  "  your  impor 
tance  is  most  amusing.  I  suppose  you  use  it  instead 
of  sense  ?  There !  go  home.  I  'm  tired  of  you.  I 
wish  you  would  see  that  that  medicine  is  sent  in  for 
Scarlett.  I  hope  you  appreciate  my  friendship  in 
letting  you  experiment  upon  my  maid  ?  Johnny  ! ' 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  her  son,  coming  to  her  side, 
as  the  door  closed  behind  the  doctor. 

"  I  will  play  a  game  of  draughts  with  you,"  she 
said,  pushing  her  straight-backed  armchair  a  little 
farther  from  the  fire  :  kk  there  is  time  before  tea.  Just 
fetch  the  table,  and  ring  for  Davids  to  bring  the 
lamps." 

John  Paul  rang  the  bell  and  silently  brought  the 


14  SIDNEY. 

small  table,  with  its  inlaid  checkerboard  of  ivory  and 
ebony  ;  as  he  did  so,  the  baize  door  opened,  and  Da 
vids  stood  like  a  lean  shadow  against  the  dusk  of  the 
hall  behind  him. 

"  You  may  bring  the  lamps,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  be 
ginning  to  arrange  her  men,  the  old-fashioned  rings 
flashing  upon  her  hands. 

"  It  is  not,"  said  Davids,  moving  his  shaven  jaws 
with  deliberation,  "  a  quarter  to  six." 

Mrs.  Paul  looked  up.  "  I  think  you  might  as  well 
bring  them,"  she  said,  half  apologetically,  "  if  they 
are  ready." 

"  They  are  not  yet  lighted  "  —  he  began  to  say, 
with  respectful  stubbornness,  but  John  Paul  inter 
rupted  him  quietly. 

"  Bring  the  lamps,"  he  said ;  and  the  man  went 
at  once  to  get  them. 

"  I  can  give  my  own  orders,  thank  you !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Paul  angrily.  "  You  take  too  much  upon 
yourself,  sir !  Please  remember  that  this  is  my 
house." 

She  was  still  frowning  when  Davids  returned  with 
two  tall  lamps  whose  ground-glass  globes  faithfully 
imprisoned  the  light.  He  put  one  on  either  end  of 
the  mantel,  and  then,  with  a  noiseless  step,  brought 
a  footstool,  and  arranged  a  screen  between  his  mis 
tress  and  the  fire,  which  had  brought  a  delicate  flush 
to  her  soft  old  cheek.  After  that  he  lit  the  candles 
in  the  sconces  and  put  another  lamp  on  a  table  at 
Mrs.  Paul's  elbow,  so  that  in  a  moment  the  room 
was  flooded  with  soft  light. 

This  drawing-room  of  Mrs.  Paul's  was  handsome, 


SIDNEY.  15 

and  almost  interesting;  but  the  wainscoting  above 
the  bookcases  built  into  the  wall  made  the  corners 
dark,  and  there  was  no  cheerful  litter  of  home  life 
about  it.  A  bust  of  the  late  Mr.  Paul  stood  between 
the  further  windows,  and  over  the  mantel  there  was 
a  painting  of  a  very  young  girl  in  a  white  gown 
and  pink  ribbons.  This  was  Annette,  the  child  who 
had  died,  and  for  whom,  it  was  said,  Mrs.  Paul  had 
not  grieved.  Indeed,  she  had  seemed  angry  at  the 
child  rather  than  at  fate.  She  never  spoke  of  her, 
but  silence  is  sometimes  more  bitter  than  words. 

All  this  was  more  than  twenty-five  years  ago, 
when  John  Paul  was  less  than  twelve  years  old, 
and  had  been  sent  away  to  boarding-school  that  he 
might  not  be  a  nuisance  to  his  mother.  Mrs.  Paul 
did  not  often  look  up  at  this  picture,  even  when  she 
was  alone,  and  she  had  been  heard  to  say  carelessly 
that  a  woman  could  live  her  youth  over  again  in  her 
daughter,  whereas  a  son  — 

But  Providence  arranged  those  things,  she  sup 
posed. 


n. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Paul's  door  closed  behind  Alan 
Crossan,  he  stood  a  moment  upon  the  steps  think 
ing.  A  bell  had  rung  in  one  of  the  factories,  and 
down  in  the  street  a  group  of  tired  girls  chattered 
shrilly  as  they  turned  toward  their  homes.  Alan, 
looking  through  the  arbor  which  covered  the  flight 
of  stone  steps  down  the  terraces  to  the  gate,  could 
see  them,  and  the  cobble-stones  of  the  street,  and  the 
dingy  doorways  opposite.  It  was  only  through  the 
arbor  one  caught  a  glimpse  of  it  all,  for  on  either 
side  of  the  gate,  along  the  wall,  was  the  high  black 
thorn  hedge. 

Just  now,  heavy  drays,  loaded  with  rattling  iron 
rods  or  bales  of  dirty  cotton,  rumbled  slowly  past. 
A  hand-organ,  a  block  away,  broke  into  a  sharp 
jingling  tune ;  one  of  the  mill-girls  began  to  dance, 
and  there  was  a  shout  of  noisy  laughter  from  her 
companions.  Alan  Crossan  frowned.  It  set  his 
teeth  on  edge,  he  said  to  himself,  —  the  bleak  skies, 
the  bald  and  vulgar  streets,  and  the  shrewd  wind 
clattering  through  the  branches  of  the  trees.  The 
doctor  was  tired.  He  had  been  in  the  almshouse 
infirmary  all  the  morning,  and  then  had  come  home 
to  find  Robert  Steele  sunk  in  the  deepest  depression. 

Of  course  Alan  understood  its  cause.  As  his 
friend  made  a  better  and  better  fight  against  his 


SIDNEY,  17 

controlling  weakness ;  as,  steadily,  he  pushed  his 
morphine  further  from  him,  he  not  only  suffered 
physically,  but  he  grew  more  aware  of  his  cowardice, 
and  the  burden  of  that  thought  seemed  to  fling  his 
soul  into  the  dust  of  shame.  Ordinarily,  Alan's 
glad  courage  was  quick  to  cheer  and  comfort  the 
sick  man,  but  this  dark  afternoon  he  had  felt  inca 
pable  of  the  exertion  of  cheerfulness,  and  so  had  wan 
dered  out,  rather  aimlessly,  and  had  found  himself, 
towards  dusk,  in  Mrs.  Paul's  drawing-room.  She 
amused  him,  and  that,  he  declared,  was  good  for  his 
moral  nature,  so  it  was  a  duty  to  call  upon  her  often. 
As  he  stood  now  watching  the  jostling  crowd  in  the 
street,  the  remembrance  of  Robert's  loneliness  op 
pressed  him ;  but  he  found  himself  thinking  of 
Major  Lee's  library  and  Miss  Sally's  kindness, 
rather  than  of  his  own  power  to  help  his  friend. 
He  was  in  that  frame  of  mind  where  a  man  likes  to 
be  made  much  of.  "  I  will  go  and  ask  Miss  Sally 
to  give  me  a  cup  of  tea,"  he  said. 

He  thought  again  of  Robert,  as  he  opened  the 
heavy  iron  gate  and  found  himself  in  the  street,  and 
he  declared  that  he  was  a  brute  to  leave  his  friend 
alone.  But  he  did  not  turn  back. 

Major  Lee's  house  was  on  the  other  side  of  Mrs. 
Paul's  garden  wall.  Its  long-unused  driveway  (for 
the  major  kept  no  carriage)  circled  about  a  little 
lawn  before  the  porch,  and  then  opened  upon  a  side 
street,  which  was  really  only  a  lane.  Back  of  the 
house  there  was  a  great  tangled  garden,  inclosed, 
like  Mrs.  Paul's,  by  a  brick  wall,  —  it  was  much 
larger  than  hers  ;  beyond  it  was  a  pasture,  and  then 


18  STDNEX. 

a  hillside  crowned  by  sparse,  open  woods  ;  beyond 
that  were  the  rolling  hills  of  the  tranquil  country, 
untouched  as  yefc  by  the  taint  of  trade. 

The  confusion  of  the  bustling  town  did  not  in 
trude  here,  as  it  did  at  Mrs.  Paul's.  Perhaps  this 
was  because  of  that  large  silence  which  seemed  to 
hold  the  life  within. 

"How  little  the  major  talks!  "  Alan-fthought,  as 
he  came  through  the  lane,  and  looked  up  at  the 
great  gray  house,  set  back  in  its  walled  courtyard, 
"  and  Sidney  only  listens.  How  gracious  that  bend 
of  her  head  is,  when  she  listens  !  Miss  Sally  talks, 
of  course,  but  she  does  not  say  anything,  and  her 
voice  is  so  pleasant." 

The  Lees'  house  was  larger  than  Mrs.  Paul's,  be 
ing  double  and  with  low  wings  on  either  side.  The 
veranda,  with  its  four  white  pillars  reaching  above 
the  second  story,  gave  it  a  certain  stateliness,  in 
spite  of  a  look  of  dilapidation  and  neglect. 

"  The  fact  is,"  Mrs.  Paul  had  once  explained  to 
Robert  Steele  and  the  doctor,  "  Mortimer  Lee  has 
no  money  for  repairs.  He  saves  every  cent  for  Sid 
ney,  Sally  tells  me.  But  I  believe  he  grows  poorer 
and  poorer  each  year.  I  don't  understand  it,  unless 
Sally  is  wasteful  about  her  housekeeping,  which  I 
am  sure  is  very  likely,  for  she  has  less  sense  than 
any  one  I  know.  She  tries  to  make  both  ends  meet, 
but "  —  Mrs.  Paul  closed  her  lips  with  decision, 
though  with  the  look  of  being  able  to  say  more,  if 
she  chose ;  which  indeed  was  true,  but,  frank  as  she 
was  in  expressing  her  opinion  of  the  major's  sister, 
she  would  have  been  incapable  of  parading  t  ir  ar- 


SIDNEY.  19 

rangements  with  Miss  Sally,  whereby  she  listened 
every  day  to  a  French  novel,  or  a  history,  or  a  news 
paper,  and  Miss  Sally,  in  consequence,  accumulated 
a  little  fund,  which  she  called  —  although  Mrs. 
Paul  did  not  know  it  —  her  "poor  money."  Sidney, 
quite  unconscious  of  payment  being  made,  some 
times  took  her  aunt's  place,  although  only  when  it 
was  history  or  the  news. 

"  French  novels  won't  hurt  you,  Sally,"  Mrs.  Paul 
declared  frankly ;  "  you  are  too  old  and  too  silly." 

So  Miss  Sally,  with  her  delicate  and  gentle  face 
tingling  with  blushes,  read  many  strange  things  to 
the  handsome  old  woman  in  the  carved  armchair. 
That  Miss  Sally  often  went  home  and  washed  her 
little  hands  with  vigorous  and  tearful  protest  and 
with  a  burning  sense  of  degradation  Mrs.  Paul  never 
knew,  but  she  would  have  been  delighted  had  she 
discovered  it. 

Housekeeping  for  Mortimer  Lee,  with  his  Vir 
ginia  ideas  of  living  and  his  narrow  income,  was  not 
easy  ;  but  Miss  Sally  was  always  joyfully  content, 
for  was  not  money  being  put  aside,  little  by  little, 
for  Sidney's  future  support  ?  Beside,  the  pleasure 
of  having  her  allowance  for  household  expenses  go 
sometimes  a  little  further  than  she  had  dared  to 
hope,  in  making  her  brother  and  her  niece  comfort 
able,  filled  her  faithful  life  with  a  reason  for  being. 
They  were  so  patient  with  her,  she  thought,  these 
two  shining  ones ;  they  let  her  love  them  all  she 
could,  though  she  was  so  different  and  so  dull.  How 
often  she  thanked  God,  with  tears,  for  the  blessing 
of  being  able  to  give  them  all  her  humble  life ! 


20  SIDNEY. 

The  doctor  walked  across  the  sharp  cobble-stones 
of  the  courtyard,  up  between  the  two  ailantus  trees 
which  guarded  the  wide  flight  of  steps,  and  rang  the 
bell.  He  could  hear  its  echoing  jangle  through  the 
long  hall,  and  then,  a  moment  later,  Miss  Sally 
Lee's  light,  hurrying  step.  Some  wet  leaves  drifted 
heavily  down  from  ivy  which  had  matted  thickly 
across  the  lintel  of  a  window,  and  on  the  other  side 
of  the  house  a  shutter  banged  drearily.  The  pre 
monition  of  cheerfulness  within  made  him  shiver  in 
the  raw  wind.  He  was  glad  to  take  Miss  Sally's 
cordial  hand,  and  then  follow  her  along  the  hall  and 
into  the  library.  As  they  opened  the  door  a  gush  of 
firelight  danced  out,  and  lit  two  sudden  stars  in  Sid 
ney's  eyes,  as  she  glanced  up  from  her  seat  in  the 
corner  of  the  old  sofa  by  the  hearth. 

The  room  was  full  of  the  dusky  glow  of  the  fire, 
for  the  lamps  had  not  yet  been  lighted ;  it  glimmered 
on  the  bindings  of  the  books  which  lined  the  walls 
and  on  the  heavy  furniture,  and  it  lit  a  mimic  flame 
in  the  darkness  against  the  window-panes. 

"  Sit  down,  dear  Alan !  "  cried  Miss  Sally,  push 
ing  a  chair  toward  the  fire  before  the  doctor  could 
prevent  her.  "  How  is  poor  Mr.  Steele,  and  won't 
you  tell  Sidney  she  must  not  try  to  read  by  fire 
light  ?  I  was  just  going  to  fetch  her  a  lamp  when 
you  rung." 

Miss  Sally's  small,  anxious  face  and  timid  manner 
always  caused  Alan  to  think  of  a  deprecating  bird, 
and  made  him  want  to  stroke  the  somewhat  ruffled 
plumage  of  her  hair  and  dress,  and  bid  her  never 
fear.  Instead,  he  remonstrated  with  Sidney.  "  By 


SIDNEY.  21 

this  flickering  light  ?  "  he  said.  "  Why,  I  am  as 
tonished  at  you !  " 

She  had  been  bending  down,  so  that  the  fire  could 
shine  on  the  page  of  her  book,  and  her  smooth  cheek 
was  scorched  in  spite  of  her  protecting  hand. 

"  I  just  wanted  to  finish  a  paragraph,"  she  ex 
plained,  smiling  at  his  reproaches  and  closing  the 
book  quietly. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  "  What !  Von 
Hartmann,  and  in  German  ?  To  ruin  your  eyes  for 
that  sort  of  thing,  Sidney,  reflects  upon  your  judg 
ment." 

"  I  did  n't  understand  it  very  well,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  did  n't  like  to  give  it  up." 

"  Of  course  you  did  n't  understand  it,"  Alan  de 
clared,  with  the  instant  irritation  of  a  man  who  sees 
a  charming  young  woman  do  a  thing  which  is  not 
charming.  Sidney  Lee  and  German  pessimism  were 
not  compatible ;  it  was  like  running  a  steam  engine 
through  a  flower  garden  for  a  girl  to  study  that  sort 
of  thing,  he  had  said  to  himself  more  than  once. 
"  Nobody  understands  it  who  has  a  healthy  mind," 
he  continued.  Sidney  only  smiled.  "At  least  no 
one  should  want  to  understand  it,"  he  amended, 
beginning  to  be  good-natured  again. 

The  lazy  sweetness  of  Alan  Crossan's  temper  for 
bade  annoyance  for  any  length  of  time,  so,  as  he 
began  to  talk  to  Miss  Sally,  he  dropped  his  solici 
tude  for  Sidney's  brown  eyes,  and  banished  her  un 
pleasant  course  of  reading  from  his  mind. 

The  cordial  firelight,  the  faint  scent  of  many 
leather-covered  books,  mingling  with  Miss  Sally's 


22  SIDNEY. 

mild  chatter,  rested  and  comforted  him.  He  began 
to  think  —  for  it  was  not  necessary  to  follow  her 
words  —  of  how  he  would  brace  Robert  Steele  when 
he  went  home,  and  his  intention  was  so  genuine  that 
it  made  him  forgive  himself  for  having  left  his  friend 
alone  all  the  afternoon.  From  a  word  caught  now 
and  then,  he  knew  that  Miss  Sally  was  saying  kindly 
things  about  Mr.  Steele.  That  she  did  not  know  the 
secret  of  his  illness  did  not  trouble  Alan  ;  he  was 
quite  certain  that  her  sympathy  for  suffering  did  not 
depend  upon  the  cause  of  the  suffering ;  and  so,  sure 
of  her  interest,  he  burst  out  into  praises  of  Robert 
which  made  him  forget  that  he  had  been  selfish  in 
leaving  the  sick  man. 

"  I  admit,"  he  said,  his  face  full  of  charming  ani 
mation,  "  that  his  action  about  that  money  was  ab 
surd;  we  all  acknowledge  that.  But  the  motive 
was  noble.  And  after  all,  it  's  the  motive  that 
counts.  He  threw  away  trust  money,  and  the  world 
calls  that  sort  of  thing  dishonorable  ;  but  he  did  it 
from  a  strained  idea  of  honor.  Think  how  brave  a 
man  has  to  be  to  turn  the  world's  standards  upside 
down  !  When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  though, 
that 's  what  all  great  men  have  done.  Yes,  Bob  is  a 
man  capable  of  greatness.  I  am  so  glad  you  and 
the  major  are  good  to  him,  Miss  Sally.  His  own 
people  are  very  cold ;  Kate  Townsend  is  civil  to  him 
(those  Townsends  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  are 
relatives  of  his,  you  know),  but  no  one  else  is.  The 
Draytons  in  Ashurst  are  his  cousins,  but  the  colonel 
has  n't  noticed  him  since  he  returned,  and  of  course 
Steele  won't  go  there  without  an  invitation.  As  for 


SIDNEY.  23 

me,  I  am  that  anomaly,  a  man  without  relatives,  — 
except  the  Pauls,  they  are  far  off  cousins,  I  believe  ; 
—  so  I  have  no  one  who  will  show  him  kindness  and 
appreciation,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  the  fact 
is,  there  are  not  many  people  big  enough  to  appre 
ciate  Steele,  anyhow.  Not  that  I  believe  much  in 
relations,"  he  went  on,  amused  by  Miss  Sally's  hor 
ror  of  such  a  sentiment ;  "  the  tie  of  blood  is  purely 
conventional.  Sometimes  people  are  friendly  in 
spite  of  it,  but  not  often.  I  am  convinced  that 
if  Mrs.  Paul  should  recollect  that  her  husband  was 
my  grandfather's  cousin  she  would  treat  me  as  badly 
as  she  does  John,  so  pray  don't  mention  it,  Miss 
Sally?" 

"  Oh,  I  won't,  Alan,"  she  responded,  in  an  anxious 
flutter  ;  "  but  I  'm  sure  you  are  wrong.  Dear  Mrs. 
Paul  would  only  love  you  more.  But  you  must  al 
ways  feel  sure  that  we  love  you.  Your  mother  was 
a  dear  friend  of  mine,  although  I  was  so  much 
younger  than  she.  I  shall  always  remember  how 
kind  she  was  when  I  came  here  first,  just  a  girl,  and 
so  distressed  at  my  brother's  unhappiness." 

Alan  did  not  speak.  The  reference  to  his  mother 
silenced  him.  Her  memory  was  the  one  deep  and 
sacred  thing  in  his  life,  the  one  sorrow  of  his  cloud 
less  years,  whereby  he  was  a  richer  and  better  man. 
He  felt  the  pity  in  Sidney's  eyes,  although  he  did 
not  look  at  her,  arid  he  almost  forgave  her  Von 
Hartmann  ;  or  rather,  he  almost  forgave  the  major, 
who  was  responsible  for  Von  Hartmann.  The  real- 
it}7  of  Alan's  own  sorrow  revealed  his  unconscious 
flippancy  when  he  once  told  Mrs.  Paul  that  Major 


24  SIDNEY. 

Lee's  grief  of  twenty-two  years  was  like  a  fly  in 
amber :  it  might  be  perfect,  but  it  had  no  vitality. 
He  could  not  let  Miss  Sally  speak  of  his  mother 
again. 

"  Do  you  know  Katherine  Townsend  ?  "  he  said  to 
Sidney,  in  a  changed  voice.  She  was  staring  into 
the  fire,  her  chin  resting  in  her  hand  and  her  elbow 
on  her  knee. 

She  shook  her  head.     "  No,"  she  said. 

"  You  don't  know  many  girls  of  your  own  age,  do 
you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No ;  you  see  all  the  people  we  used  to  know 
have  moved  away,  except  Mrs.  Paul.  Not  that  I 
ever  knew  any  children  very  well.  Somehow,  I  did 
not  need  to  know  children,  when  I  had  father ;  and 
now  there  are  nothing  but  tenements  around  us." 

Miss  Sally  sighed.  "  Dear  me  !  "  she  said,  "  and 
what  'dreadful  places  they  are,  the  tenement  houses ! 
There  is  so  much  suffering  among  the  mill  people." 

"  You  enjoy  it,  dear,"  interposed  Sidney,  smiling 
a  little,  with  her  serious  eyes  on  Miss  Sally's  trou 
bled  face.  "  What  would  you  do  without  your  sew 
ing-school  and  your  visits  to  your  sick  people  ?  She 
will  make  you  go  to  see  them,  too,  Alan." 

"  Do  you  go  ? "  he  said,  watching  the  firelight 
shining  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  cried  Miss  Sally  deprecatingly  ;  "  no, 
indeed,  Sidney  could  n't  go.  You  don't  know  how 
sad  it  is,  Alan." 

Sidney  shook  her  head,  with  a  shiver.  "  No,"  she 
said.  "  It  is  dreadful  to  think  that  there  is  suffer 
ing,  —  but  to  go  to  see  it !  " 


SIDNEY.  25 

"  But  if  by  going  you  make  it  less  ?  "  Alan  per 
sisted,  too  interested  to  be  displeased. 

"  But  you  know  it  cannot  really  be  helped,"  she 
answered  gravely.  "  The  facts  of  life  are  not  to  be 
changed  by  a  bowl  of  soup  or  a  bottle  of  medicine. 
Of  course  there  is  the  pleasure  of  giving,  —  to  the 
giver  ;  but  that  is  really  all  there  is." 

"  Altruism  is  another  name  for  selfishness,  then  ?  " 
Alan  said,  laughing. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  admitted  ;  "  or  perhaps  it 's 
something  worse  than  that;  those  people  had  far 
better  die  —  they  are  no  good  to  the  community  or 
to  themselves — but  you  philanthropists  try  to  put 
aside  the  laws  of  nature,  and  keep  them  alive  !  " 

"That,"  observed  Alan,  "  is  as  inhuman  a  senti 
ment  (I  beg  your  pardon,  Sidney)  as  I  have  often 
heard." 

She  looked  troubled.  "  But  it  is  true,"  she  said 
gently.  "  Oh,  I  am  glad  my  garden  walls  are  high, 
and  shut  sad  things  out.  I  —  I  saw  a  baby's  funeral 
to-day,  aunty ;  and  oh,  the  poor  father  and  mother 
were  taking  the  baby's  little  rocking-horse  out  to 
the  grave  with  them,  to  leave  it  there,  I  suppose." 

"  What  pathos  there  is  in  that,"  said  the  doctor, 
—  "  that  putting  things  on  the  grave  !  It  is  a  sort 
of  compromise  with  death." 

Sidney  nodded,  but  Miss  Sally  was  full  of  inter 
est.  "  Did  you  notice  where  the  funeral  came  from, 
my  dear?  Was  it  from  Mary  Allen's,  do  you 
think?  But  you  don't  know  where  she  lives.  It 
came  out  of  Dove's  Lane,  you  say  ?  Oh,  yes,  — 
yes,  I  'm  afraid  it  was  her  baby.  I  heard  that  it  was 


26  SIDNEY. 

sick.     I  must  go  to  see  her,  to-morrow ;  poor,  poor 
thing !  " 

Sidney  looked  up  at  the  doctor  and  smiled.  "  That 
is  the  way  she  does,"  she  said. 

They  did  not  talk  of  the  pitiful  little  funeral  any 
longer,  for  Miss  Sally's  kind  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
and  Sidney  shrank  from  any  mention  of  pain.  The 
sight  of  her  aunt's  concern  seemed  to  fill  her  with 
silent  impatience  ;  she  frowned  at  the  fire,  and  for  a 
while  no  one  spoke. 

The  logs  had  smouldered  into  a  dull  glow,  when 
Miss  Sally  rose  to  bring  the  lamps.  Alan  sprang  to 
his  feet  to  help  her,  but  Sidney,  lifting  her  eyes 
from  the  red  ashes,  only  glanced  back  into  the  shad 
ows,  and  said  she  had  not  realized  that  it  was  so 
dark.  Miss  Sally,  however,  refused  Alan's  aid,  and 
the  two  young  people  fell  again  into  silence,  until  a 
step  in  the  hall  made  a  sudden  gladness  flash  into 
Sidney's  face,  and  she  rose  to  welcome  her  father. 
Alan  could  hear  the  murmur  of  their  voices  in  the 
hall,  and  then  they  entered  together;  the  major 
standing  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway,  like  a  waver 
ing  shadow,  while  he  put  his  glasses  astride  his  nose, 
and  peered  through  them  at  the  guest  in  the  chimney 
corner.  Then  he  extended  his  hand  to  the  young 
man,  in  silent  and  friendly  greeting. 

His  eyes  were  only  for  Sidney,  but  he  smiled  at 
Alan  when  he  heard  Miss  Sally,  as  she  came  in  with 
the  lamps,  tell  the  doctor  that  he  must  stay  to  tea, 
and  he  said  gently,  "  Yes,  surely,  surely."  From 
the  hollows  under  his  shaggy  brows,  eyes  as  dark 
and  shining  as  Sidney's  own  watched  her  as  she  and 


SIDNEY.  27 

Alan  talked.  It  seemed  as  though  every  motion 
and  glance  of  hers  fell  upon  the  shrine  of  his  heart ; 
he  smiled  when  she  did,  for  very  joy  of  seeing  his 
darling  pleased.  He  did  not  listen  to  what  the 
young  man  said  to  her,  although  sometimes  he  bent 
his  white  head  in  gracious  attention;  he  took  no 
part  in  the  conversation,  and  did  not  speak  again 
until  they  rose  to  go  in  to  tea. 

Then  he  said,  "  I  called  upon  Mr.  Steele  this 
afternoon,  Alan." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  cried  the  doctor,  his  face  brighten 
ing  with  surprise  and  pleasure.  But  the  major  did 
not  pursue  the  subject  just  then. 

"Will  you  give  my  sister  your  arm,  sir  ?  "  he  said 
courteously. 

As  he  spoke,  he  offered  his  own  to  his  daughter, 
and  gravely  followed  Alan  and  Miss  Sally  to  the 
dining-room.  This  formality  was  as  much  a  part  of 
the  major's  precise  and  silent  life  as  was  his  daily 
walk  to  the  bank  or  his  cigar  at  seven.  Family 
rudeness,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  affection,  was 
impossible  in  Mortimer  Lee's  household ;  that  the 
stately  walk  through  the  wide,  bare  hall  was  to  a 
most  frugal  tea-table  was  of  no  importance,  and 
could  have  no  effect  upon  these  decencies  of  life,  — 
at  least  in  the  major's  mind. 

The  doctor  had  taken  tea  here  frequently  since 
his  return  to  Mercer  ;  for  when  he  had  called  first, 
the  major,  holding  his  hand  silently  for  a  moment, 
had  said,  "  Let  us  see  you  often,  Alan.  I  loved 
your  father,  sir.'.'  There  was  something  in  the  old 
man's  voice  which  made  Alan's  eyes  sting  for  an  un- 


28  SIDNEY. 

accustomed  instant,  and  he  had  come,  very  often. 
Sometimes,  after  having  taken  a  great  deal  of  tea 
from  Miss  Sally's  little  thin  blue  cups,  and  eaten 
many  slices  of  bread,  he  would,  as  he  went  home, 
stop  to  satisfy  his  appetite  at  a  convenient  shop ;  for 
there  was  a  marked  absence  upon  the  major's  tea- 
table  of  those  things  which  appeal  best  to  a  hungry 
man,  although,  to  be  sure,  there  was  a  great  show  of 
silver,  and  plenty  of  glass  dishes  cut  into  wide,  un 
equal  stars.  But  it  was  a  pleasure  to  Alan  to  be 
there,  even  if  he  stopped  at  an  eating-house  after 
wards. 

The  dining-room  was  behind  the  library  ;  its  cor 
ners  were  cut  off  to  make  convenient  closets  for 
Miss  Sally's  jellies,  thereby  turning  the  room  into 
an  octagon.  It  was  large  and  always  seemed  dark 
because  of  the  heavy  sideboard,  the  big  armchairs, 
and  the  bare  and  shining  mahogany  table,  although 
the  walls  were  covered  with  a  light  paper  in  a  wide, 
faint  pattern  of  green  palm  leaves,  and  the  chintz 
hangings  in  the  windows  were  pale  and  faded. 

The  major  and  Miss  Sally  were  at  either  end  of 
the  table,  and  Sidney  sat  opposite  the  doctor ;  as 
usual  the  group  was  very  silent.  The  major  had 
but  few  interests  ;  Miss  Sally  had  no  opinions  ;  and 
Sidney's  serene  indifference  to  the  world  needed  no 
words.  So,  the  doctor,  eating  his  bread  and  drink 
ing  his  tea,  could,  without  the  interruption  of  con 
versation,  look  at  Sidney  and  enjoy  himself  very 
much  for  a  whole  hour,  for  Mortimer  Lee  did  not 
understand  haste. 

Sidney  had  a  habit,  which  delighted  Alan,  of  look- 


SIDNEY.  29 

ing  up  at  him  from  under  her  level  brows,  thinking 
her  own  thoughts  all  the  while,  but  smiling  with  a 
grave,  impersonal  kindliness.  Alan  could  even  for 
get  German  pessimism  when  she  looked  at  him  in 
this  way.  That  he  ventured  sometimes  to  return 
her  calm,  wide-eyed  gaze  never  disconcerted  her, 
which  made  him  perhaps  less  happy.  Now,  in  a 
gown  0f  some  vague  color,  that  shimmered  a  little 
when  she  moved,  Sidney  sat  dreaming  over  her 
bread  and  honey,  quite  unconscious  of  the  young 
man's  eyes ;  the  quaint  little  rosy  garland  about  her 
cup,  or  the  Chinese  pagoda  on  her  plate,  interested 
her  as  much  as  he  did.  The  soft  color  on  her  cheek 
was  like  the  flush  of  clover,  and  the  shadows  from 
her  shining  hair  rested  on  a  smooth  white  forehead  ; 
two  lamps  on  the  sideboard  and  the  candles  at  either 
end  of  the  table  did  not  light  the  dining-room  very 
well,  so  there  were  many  shadows  on  the  young 
face. 

Miss  Sally's  little  maid,  who  always  looked  as 
anxious  as  her  mistress,  waited  on  them  as  noise 
lessly  as  though  she  were  only  a  small  gray  and 
white  shadow  herself  ;  it  was  in  one  of  the  pauses, 
while  she  removed  the  plates,  that  the  major  said 
again,  "Yes,  I  called  this  afternoon  upon  Mr.  Robert 
Steele.  I  am  sorry  that  he  does  not  look  better." 

"  Yet  he  is  improving,"  Alan  answered.  "  But 
you  know  it  is  hard  lines,  Major  Lee.  There  are 
plenty  of  people  to  call  him  a  fool ;  though  a  man 
can  bear  that,  for  who  is  going  to  decide  what  is 
wisdom  and  what  is  folly,  in  this  world  ?  But  when 
it  comes  to  being  called  a  rogue  "  — 


30  SIDNEY. 

"  True,  "  said  the  major,  —  "  true." 

"  Oh,  how  can  any  one  be  so  wicked  as  to  think 
that  he  meant  to  do  anything  wrong  ?  "  cried  Miss 
Sally  warmly. 

"It  occurred  to  me,"  proceeded  the  major  (his 
sister's  questions  did  not  often  require  an  answer), 
"  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  might  perhaps  be  painful 
for  the  young  man  to  be  alone  so  much" — He 
paused ;  it  struck  him  that  such  a  remark  might  in 
dicate  that  he  thought  Alan  neglectful  of  his  friend, 
so  he  hastened  to  say,  "  And  you  are  of  necessity 
absent  occasionally,  needing  recreation  from  your 
professional  duties,"  —  Alan  smiled,  —  "so  I  ven 
tured  to  ask  Mr.  Steele  to  make  us  a  little  visit.  My 
sister  will,  I  am  sure,  see  that  he  is  made  comfort 
able  ;  and  with  my  household  and  your  frequent 
calls  he  will  be  at  least  less  lonely." 

"  I  hope  he  said  he  would  come,"  said  Alan  joy 
ously.  "  Ah,  he  is  a  good  fellow  !  I  know  you  will 
like  him  and  find  him  delightful." 

"  Most  certainly,"  returned  the  major,  lifting  his 
eyebrows  a  little.  He  had  not  asked  Robert  Steele 
for  his  own  pleasure. 

Miss  Sally,  however,  was  saying  to  herself  in 
dismay,  "A  visitor,  and  eggs  thirty-five  cents  a 
dozen  !  " 

"  He  did  not  say  definitely  that  we  might  expect 
him,"  proceeded  the  host.  "  Doubtless  he  wishes  to 
consult  his  physician.  I  depend  upon  you  to  pre 
sent  my  request  in  more  attractive  terms  than  I  was 
able  to  do." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  insist  upon  his  coming,"  answered 


SIDNEY.  31 

the  doctor  cheerfully  ;  "it  will  be  the  best  thing  in 
the  world  for  him.  Miss  Sally,  you  will  rob  me  of 
a  patient !  " 

"  Pray,"  Major  Lee  protested,  "  pray  do  not  make 
my  invitation  insistent.  The  young  man  must  not 
be  driven  into  it.  I  could  not  refrain,  however, 
from  asking  him  to  come,  he  was  apparently  in  such 
a  sad  state." 

That  suggestion  of  a  "  sad  state "  sobered  the 
doctor.  Perhaps,  before  urging  him  to  come  to  his 
house,  the  major  ought  to  know  of  that  weakness 
which  Robert  Steele  called  "sin"?  So,  a  little 
later,  when  his  host  had  risen  to  open  the  door  for 
his  sister  and  daughter,  and  then  had  returned  to 
the  table  for  his  single  small  glass  of  wine,  Alan 
spoke  of  the  cause  of  his  friend's  illness  with  some 
lightness,  but  with  much  tenderness.  Major  Lee 
made  no  comment ;  he  only  said  again,  as  he  pushed 
the  decanter  towards  Alan,  "  I  shall  depend  upon 
you,  sir,  to  tell  Mr.  Steele  how  much  pleasure  it  will 
give  me  to  see  him  in  my  house." 

It  was  evident  that  he  meant  to  forget  the  doc 
tor's  explanation. 


III. 


"  So  the  major  lias  invited  your  Sfceele  to  visit 
him  ?  "  said  John  Paul.  "  Do  you  realize  what  an 
effort  that  is  to  him  ?  I  suppose  he  did  it  because 
everybody  is  so  down  on  Mr.  Steele.  I  am,  myself, 
—  confound  him!  — though  I  don't  think  him  any 
thing  worse  than  a  crank." 

Alan  laughed  and  frowned.  "  You  can't  appre 
ciate  him,  Paul,  —  that 's  what 's  the  matter  with 
you.  But  the  invitation  is  odd.  Your  mother  has 
an  idea  —  But  I  fancy  the  very  fact  of  the  major's 
taking  Bob  into  his  house  shows  his  confidence  in 
the  result  of  Sidney's  training  ?  " 

The  doctor  wanted  to  be  contradicted,  but  his  com 
panion,  after  a  moment's  pause  to  guess  the  mean 
ing  of  the  unfinished  sentence,  nodded,  and  said, 
"  Yes,  exactly.  Mortimer  Lee  would  not  hesitate  to 
bring  the  most  attractive  man  in  the  world  into  Sid 
ney's  presence  (and  I  suppose  you  hardly  call  Steele 
that  ?).  She  's  safe  ;  —  more  's  the  pity  for  the  girl." 

Alan  looked  at  him  with  lazy  annoyance.  To 
have  Paul  assume  so  positively  that  Sidney's  unnat 
ural  training  would  certainly  spoil  her  life  irritated 
him  ;  and  yet  it  gave  him  a  vague  assurance,  too. 
The  thought  of  Robert's  probable  intimacy  with  the 
major's  family  had  not  been  entirely  pleasant  to  the 


SIDNEY.  33 

doctor  ;  indeed,  the  more  he  had  reflected  upon  it, 
the  less  certain  he  became  that  such  a  visit  would 
benefit  the  sick  man.  But  all  the  while  he  was 
thoroughly  aware  of  the  fear  which  lay  behind  this 
thought,  and  even  amused  by  its  pretense,  so  it  did 
not  prevent  him  from  using  his  utmost  influence  to 
persuade  his  friend  to  go  to  the  major's ;  though 
when,  at  last,  after  much  urging,  Robert  consented, 
Alan  took  up  his  violin,  and  spent  an  hour,  with 
knitted  brows,  picking  out  a  difficult  movement. 

He  reflected  now  that  there  was  no  reason  why 
John  Paul's  assurance  that  Sidney  was  safe  should 
be  comforting,  but  it  was,  —  at  least  so  far  as  Mr. 
Steele  was  concerned. 

The  two  men  had  met  upon  the  little  covered 
bridge  that  spanned  the  hurrying  river,  upon  either 
side  of  which  lay  the  manufacturing  town  of  Mercer, 
and  now  they  were  walking  on  together ;  Alan  to 
the  house  of  an  unexpected  patient,  and  John 
Paul- 

"  I  am  going,"  he  had  explained,  with  unneces 
sary  frankness,  and  with  a  dull  flush  upon  his 
brown  cheek,  —  "I  am  going  out  to  Red  Lane  to 
see  a  little  boy.  He  has  some  pups.  It 's  Ted 
Townsend,  —  brother  of  Miss  Katherine  Townsend, 
you  know  :  nice  boy  ;  nice  pups." 

"  Nice  girl  ?  "  Alan  observed,  stopping  to  light  a 
cigarette,  his  eyes  smiling  over  the  sputtering  match 
in  his  hollow  hand. 

"  Oh  !  "  returned  the  older  man  hastily  ;  "  yes, 
quite  so.  Don't  see  much  of  her,  of  course.  She 
has  pupils,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  She  has  to  earn 


34  SIDNEY. 

her  own  living,  you  know.  Steele  is  her  cousin, 
is  n't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  she  would  n't  permit  him  "  —  Alan 
began  to  resent. 

"  No,"  interrupted  John  impatiently,  "  she  won't 
permit  any  one,  —  that 's  just  it.  And  she  has  those 
sisters  to  look  after,  and  Ted." 

"  And  the  pups  ?"  suggested  Alan,  but  John  did 
not  notice  him. 

"  Why,  think  of  it,  Crossan,"  he  said,  taking  his 
hands  out  of  his  pockets  to  gesticulate :  "  here  she 
is,  —  Katherine  Townsend,  a  woman  who  is  worth 
any  ten  I  ever  saw  in  my  life  (I  'in  just  an  outsider, 
and  unprejudiced  ;  you  'd  say  the  same  thing  if  you 
knew  her),  —  here  she  is,  giving  music  lessons  to 
this  little  Eliza  Jennings  in  the  toll-house.  Eliza 
Jennings  is  a  nice  little  thing,  no  doubt,  but  "  — 

John  Paul  wore  a  fur  cap,  and  as  he  spoke  his 
forehead  seemed  to  disappear  under  it  in  two  big 
wrinkles. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Paul  know  Miss  Townsend  ? "  in 
quired  the  doctor,  after  a  moment's  pause  ;  and  his 
companion's  abrupt  "  No  "  made  Alan's  eyes  dance. 
Robert  Steele,  and  the  smallness  of  his  own  practice, 
and  all  the  little  worries  of  life  could  be  forgotten 
when  he  found  anything  droll.  It  was  a  happy  tem 
perament,  this,  which  could  banish  an  unpleasant 
thought  by  a  merry  one.  "  With  it,  a  man  does  n't 
live  on  a  mountain-top,"  Alan  admitted  gayly,  "but 
he  finds  the  foot-hills  amazingly  pleasant." 

John  had  no  more  to  say  of  the  sister  of  the 
boy  with  the  pups ;  yet,  as  they  went  past  the  toll- 


SIDNEY.  35 

house,  he  looked  searehingly  into  the  window  from 
which  it  was  Mrs.  Jennings'  habit  to  extend  one 
tight,  plump  hand  for  a  penny.  But  in  John  Paul's 
eyes,  the  small  room  within  was  empty,  although,  in 
deed,  Eliza  Jennings  sat  rocking  comfortably  in  a 
big  chair,  which  had  a  crocheted  antimacassar  on  its 
back.  There  was  a  row  of  geraniums  on  the  win 
dow-sill  beside  her,  which  strained  the  wintry  sun 
shine  through  a  net  of  scarlet  blossoms  and  broad, 
vigorous  leaves. 

"  Was  it  Mr.  Paul,  ma  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  sort  of 
gasp,  as  the  fur  cap  vanished  from  the  small  horizon 
of  the  toll-window.  Eliza's  freckled  little  face  grew 
quite  intent  as  she  spoke.  It  is  curious  how  lasting 
is  the  interest  in  a  question  of  this  nature.  Eliza 
Jennings  had  kept  a  half  look,  which  meant  hope 
and  expectation,  upon  that  window  of  the  toll-house 
for  many  months.  Yes,  it  was  quite  six  months  ago 
that  Mr.  John  Paul  began  to  take  these  very  fre 
quent  walks  towards  Red  Lane,  and  in  that  time 
Eliza  had  had  many  a  pleasant  nod,  or  a  word  or 
two  about  the  weather,  as  he  handed  her  a  penny 
for  the  toll. 

With  a  view  to  this  interest  in  her  life,  Eliza 
could  not  have  lived  in  a  better  place  than  the  toll 
house.  The  pedestrian  could  not  come  from  Old 
Mercer  to  Little  Mercer  save  across  this  bridge. 
Then,  too,  as  he  returned,  he  must  stop  long  enough 
to  extract  a  penny  from  the  pocket  of  his  breeches, 
and  where  a  man  is  tall  and  stout  this  is  not  done 
hastily. 

The   gray  toll-house  at   the   end   of  the  covered 


36  SIDNEY. 

bridge  did  not  seem  to  belong  among  the  smart  new 
houses  of  Little  Mercer,  but  rather  as  if  it  had  been 
pushed  out  of  the  older  town  when  the  bridge  first 
crossed  the  river,  and  was  now  looking  back  with 
regret.  There  was  a  yard  around  it,  inclosed  by 
high  palings,  which  were  always  dazzling  with  fresh 
whitewash.  In  summer,  poppies,  and  bouncing- 
bets,  and  bachelor's-buttons  pushed  between  the 
bars,  and  gazed  with  honest  sweetness  at  the  foot- 
passengers,  for  the  garden  was  always  full  of  riotous 
color  and  perfume. 

Now,  only  a  few  brown  stalks  stood  straight  and 
thin  in  the  snow.  The  wooden  arbor  in  the  middle 
was  reached  by  a  tiny  graveled  walk,  which  curled 
about  among  the  flower-beds  to  make  a  respectable 
length.  On  this  cold  November  day  its  seats  were 
piled  high  with  powdery  snow,  which  rose  in  a 
gleaming  dust  when  the  wind  blew  from  up  the 
river,  and  then  settled  in  small  icy  ripples  along  the 
floor.  But  the  arbor  (in  which,  during  the  summer, 
it  was  the  custom  of  Mrs.  Jennings  to  serve  tall 
glasses  of  ice-cream  to  hot  wayfarers)  had,  even  in 
November,  a  certain  sacredness  for  Eliza.  Was  it 
not  here  that  she  had  first  talked  to  Mr.  John  Paul  ? 
It  was  a  June  day,  —  ah,  how  well  she  remembered 
it !  He  had  brought  little  Ted  Town  send  into  the 
summer-house,  through  the  hot  sweetness  of  the 
blazing  garden,  and  had  begged  Eliza  to  fetch  him 
two  glasses  of  ice-cream. 

"Every  ft"  cents  Kitty  gives  me,"  Ted  said, 
breathless  with  anticipation,  "  I  spend  here,  don't  I, 
Miss  Eliza?" 


SIDNEY.  37 

John,  in  a  look  across  Ted's  curly  head,  good- 
naturedly  shared  his  amusement  with  Eliza,  who 
felt  her  heart  beat  with  pleasure. 

"  He 's  just  grand !  "  she  told  her  mother,  and 
Mrs.  Jennings  agreed  with  her  ;  "  it  was  real  good 
in  him  to  treat  Master  Ted,"  she  said,  "  though  I 
should  have  thought  a  gentleman  like  him  would  V 
brought  the  boy's  sister  along  too;  for  it  would 
seem  right  nice  to  her,  workin'  all  day  like  she  does, 
teachin'  this  one  or  that  one  ;  "  and  Mrs.  Jennings 
was  glad  that  her  Eliza  could  stay  at  home,  like  a 
lady,  with  only  a  bonnet  to  trim  now  and  then  for  a 
neighbor.  But  the  little  milliner  had  resented  even 
this  small  criticism  upon  the  grand  gentleman  in  the 
garden. 

Mrs.  Jennings,  except  where  love  made  her 
shrewd,  was  a  woman  of  slow,  dull  thought,  but  she 
began  to  connect  her  daughter's  sudden  desire  for 
improvement  in  one  way  or  another  with  that  scene 
in  the  garden,  and  not  long  afterwards,  seeing 
Eliza  so  faithful  in  her  blundering  practice  upon  the 
melodeon,  she  had  suggested  that  her  daughter 
should  take  organ  lessons  from  Miss  Townsend, 
"  an'  be  a  real  musician,  'Liza,"  she  explained.  "  I 
guess  you'll  find  he 's  musical,  too.  Besides,  she 
ain't  real  well  off,  you  know,  and  I  like  to  help  a 
body  along." 

"  And  pray  why  not  ?  "  Katherine  had  demanded 
of  Mr.  John  Paul,  as  he  stood  indignant  and  aghast 
in  her  small  parlor. 

"But,  Miss  Townsend,"  he  stammered,  •' you  — 
you  are  "  — 


38  SIDNEY. 

"  Delighted  to  have  a  new  pupil,"  she  finished,  and 
laughed. 

Katherine  Townsend  was  always  cordial  and  oc 
casionally  sincere.  This  time  she  was  both.  "  Don't 
you  see,"  she  said,  u  it  would  be  absurd  in  me  to  say 
I  would  not  instruct  little  Eliza  how  to  play  upon 
her  organ  with  twenty-two  stops.  I  want  pupils, 
and  she  wants  lessons.  Why  should  we  both  be 
disappointed  ?  " 

"  I  —  I  could  find  you  some  pupils  ;  there  are  lots 
of  people  who  would  be  glad "  —  he  began ;  but 
there  was  nothing  more  to  say.  Miss  Katherine 
Townsend  was  a  young  woman  who  managed  her 
own  affairs.  Her  little  house  was  quite  out  of  sight 
of  any^vistful  eyes  at  the  toll-house  window  which 
might  follow  Mr.  John  Paul's  figure  to  the  turn  by 
the  big  barberry  bush,  which  hid  the  footpath  along 
Red  Lane.  To  be  sure,  it  was  plain  enough  that 
Mr.  Paul  often  happened  to  be  going  in  or  coming  out 
from  Old  Mercer  just  when  Miss  Townsend  did,  but 
it  did  not  follow  from  that,  that  he  went  to  see  her. 
He  never  paid  the  toll  for  her,  Eliza  had  noticed ; 
she  always  put  down  her  own  money  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  way,  and  what  could  be  more  natu 
ral  than  for  the  milliner  to  say,  "Well,  ma,  they 
ain't  hardly  friendly.  A  young  gentleman  who 
was  waiting  on  a  young  lady  would  n't  let  her  pay 
her  own  toll."  And  Mrs.  Jennings  assured  her 
that  she  was  right.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Jennings  would 
have  assured  Eliza  of  almost  anything,  so  truly 
did  the  heart  in  her  large  bosom  feel  all  her 
daughter's  joys  and  griefs.  It  was  not  necessary 


SIDNEY.  39 

that  Eliza  should  confide  in  her ;  although  she  had 
never  seen  the  diary  in  which  was  recorded,  in 
violet  ink,  the  emotions  of  an  empty  and  harmless 
little  life,  Mrs.  Jennings  knew  all,  with  that  maternal 
instinct  which  is  not  dependent  upon  knowledge. 
Perhaps  the  only  thing  she  had  not  guessed  was  her 
daughter's  desire  for  a  confidante.  Eliza  had  often 
thought  how  happy  she  would  be  if  she  could  only 
"  tell "  some  one,  —  granted,  of  course,  that  the  day 
might  come  when  there  would  be  anything  more  to 
"  tell  "  than  that  there  had  been  a  cheery  good-morn 
ing  or  a  laugh  about  Ted's  passion  for  ice-cream,  and 
granted  also  that  the  confidante  should  not  be  her 
mother.  With  such  indifference  is  maternal  devo 
tion  too  often  received  !  Sometimes,  in  a  pheasant 
dream,  while  she  trimmed  a  bonnet  behind  the  ge 
raniums  in  the  window,  or  watched  the  light  from 
the  river  ripple  upon  the  low  ceiling,  she  thought 
how  much  she  should  like  to  tell  Miss  Katherine 
Townsend  that  she  had  "given  her  heart  away.' 
She  often  pictured  the  scene  to  herself,  as  she  sat 
rocking  and  sewing,  in  that  delightful  misery  which 
only  the  sentimental  young  woman  knows  ;  and  she 
would  sometimes  drop  a  tear  upon  her  ribbon,  which 
always  brought  her  back  to  practical  life  with  anx 
ious  haste.  But  although  Miss  Townsend  was  most 
kind  during  the  weekly  music  lesson,  this  confiden 
tial  talk  never  seemed  possible.  There  was  a  look 
behind  those  gray  eyes  which  forbade  intimacy,  and 
sometimes  made  Eliza's  thick  little  finders  tumble 

O 

over  each  other  on  the  keys,  and  her  heart  beat  with 
a  sort  of  fright. 


40  SIDNEY. 

"  It 's  perfectly  ridiculous  in  you,  'Liza,"  said 
Mrs.  Jennings  impatiently  ;  "  she  ain't  got  any  more 
money  than  we  have,  so  I  tell  you  !  Yes,  and  them 
three  children  to  bring  up,  too.  It  was  different 
enough  when  her  pa  was  alive.  There  !  I  'm  sorry 
for  her.  But  you  do  make  me  real  provoked  at  you, 
when  you  act  as  if  you  were  more  'n  half  afraid  of 
her.  "She  ain't  situated  so  as  to  be  proud." 

And  indeed  Miss  Katherine  Townsend  would  have 
been  apt  to  agree  with  the  mistress  of  the  toll 
house.  There  was  much  anxiety  and  hard  work  in 
her  plain  and  quiet  life,  much  keen  disgust,  and 
weariness  with  many  things.  But  below  all  this, 
which  may  be  forgotten,  there  was  a  dull  regret 
which  she  never  put  into  words.  It  was  in  her  mind 
this  cold;  bright  afternoon,  when  the  doctor  and 
John  Paul  had  gone  over  the  bridge,  and  then  out 
along  the  turnpike  into  the  country. 

Katherine  had  come  home  from  a  lesson,  tired,  she 
said  to  herself,  of  everything;  which  was  but  an 
other  way  of  saying  that  she  was  feeling  the  lack  of 
some  absorbing  occupation  of  mind.  These  music 
lessons  were  necessary,  but  never  pleasant ;  Kath 
erine  had  too  much  self-consciousness  ever  to  find 
teaching  a  delight  for  its  own  sake.  Ted  had  run 
down  the  lane  to  welcome  her.  He  had  forgotten 
his  coat,  in  excess  of  affection,  and  Ted's  colds  were 
a  constant  anxiety  to  his  sister.  Carrie  and  Louise 
were  squabbling  in  the  upper  hall ;  and  the  one  maid- 
of-all-work  came  with  heavy,  slipshod  tread  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  to  say  that  the  flour  was  out  and 
the  coal  low. 


SIDNEY.  41 

Why  did  the  girls  squabble?  Why  did  Ted 
cough?  Why  were  Maria's  aprons  always  dingy? 
"  Father's  house  ought  not  to  be  like  this  ;  father's 
children  ought  not  to  have  such  voices."  Something 
seemed  to  come  up  into  Katherine's  throat,  but  she 
only  stopped  to  kiss  Ted,  and  break  up  the  small 
quarrel  by  asking  her  sisters  to  see  that  his  shoes 
were  not  wet.  Then  she  dropped  down  upon  her 
bed  until  tea-time.  She  hid  her  tired  eyes  in  the 
cool  pillow,  although  with  no  thought  of  tears.  Miss 
Katherine  Townsend  was  not  one  of  those  women  to 
whom  can  come  the  easy  relief  of  tears.  Beside, 
she  had  nothing  to  cry  about.  This  thought  of  John 
Paul,  she  said  to  herself,  was  too  familiar  for  emo 
tion,  and  too  impersonal.  She  was  only  sorry  that 
he  was  not  a  braver  and  a  stronger  man. 

"  And  yet  he  is  so  good,"  she  said,  with  that  same 
feeling  in  her  throat,  —  so  good,  and  honest,  and 
kind.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  if  I  cannot  make  Ted 
a  brave  man !  " 

Of  course  this  young  woman  understood  John's 
ittentions  to  Ted ;  she  knew  what  those  accidental 
meetings  on  the  bridge  meant  to  the  big,  slow,  sim 
ple  man  ;  but  what  was  she  to  infer  if  he  never  put  his 
meaning  into  words  ?  What  she  did  infer,  and  what 
made  her  manner  such  that  these  unspoken  words 
seemed  more  and  more  impossible  to  John,  was,  that 
he  was  unwilling  to  marry  upon  the  small  income 
which  Mrs.  Paul  gave  him ;  and  that  he  was  too 
indolent  or  too  cowardly  to  take  his  life  out  of  his 
mother's  hands,  and  live  it  as  he  chose,  with  poverty 
if  necessary,  but  with  love.  For,  knowing  the  sort  of 


42  SIDNEY. 

life  which  John  Paul  led,  and  knowing  too  that  it  was 
not  the  natural  bent  of  the  man,  her  conclusion  was 
that  he  led  it  because  it  was  easiest.  She  knew  just 
how  his  day  was  passed.  There  was  the  warehouse 
in  the  morning,  where  he  sat  in  a  little  glass  office, 
but  where  the  old  head  clerk  never  dreamed  of  go 
ing  for  assistance  or  advice.  She  "  preferred  to 
give  her  own  advice,"  Mrs.  Paul  had  declared  con 
temptuously.  John  read  the  letters,  but  Murray 
answered  them  as  he  saw  fit ;  his  ostensible  em 
ployer,  meanwhile,  studying  his  English  newspaper, 
or  writing  scholarly  and  stupid  articles  upon  free 
trade  ("  which  might  be  the  ruin  of  the  house, 
if  Anybody  ever  read  them,"  grumbled  Murray). 
Besides  this,  the  mornings  were  good  times  to  look 
up  the  pedigrees  of  favorite  dogs.  One  of  these  re 
searches  among  kennel-books  resulted  in  a  present  to 
Ted  of  the  mastiff  puppies,  which  greatly  incon 
venienced  Ted's  sister.  In  the  afternoon,  John  could 
walk,  or  ride,  or  read  more  newspapers,  and  dream 
much  of  Katherine  Townsend. 

But  she,  here  alone  in  the  cold  November  dusk, 
thinking  of  this  lazy,  comfortable  life,  said  to  her 
self  that  it  served  him  right  that,  after  such  a  day, 
he  had  to  spend  his  dull  evening  until  nine  listening 
to  his  mother's  tongue,  while  they  played  at  draughts 
by  the  drawing-room  fire,  "  and  just  because  he  has 
not  the  courage  to  break  away  from  it  all !  "  Al 
though  in  her  heart  she  added  "  and  love  me,"  yet 
her  indignation  was  that  which  every  earnest  mind 
feels  at  the  sight  of  neglected  possibilities,  and 
not  at  all  the  smaller  pain  of  wounded  self-esteem. 


SIDNEY  43 

Perhaps  her  inner  consciousness,  however,  that  he 
did  love  her  made  this  finer  attitude  of  mind  pos 
sible. 

But  Katherine,  in  her  bitter  thoughts,  was  not 
just.  She  did  not  understand  that  this  sort  of  life 
may  begin  in  a  sense  of  duty,  and  end  in  the  habit  of 
content.  John  Paul  had  gone  into  the  warehouse 
for  his  mother's  sake.  How  glad  he  would  have 
been  to  do  the  work  there  heartily  and  earnestly, 
and  how  completely  his  mother  had  pushed  his  de 
sires  aside,  Katherine  did  not  know,  and  would 
hardly  have  respected  him  more  had  she  known. 
She  could  not  guess  the  gentleness  of  this  silent 
man,  nor  imagine  that  he  shrank  from  disappointing 
his  mother,  even  though  he  hurt  his  self-respect  by 
the  sacrifice. 

But  little  by  little,  habit  had  blurred  that  pain. 
John  was  thirty-six,  and  for  years  he  had  been  liv 
ing  on  the  very  small  allowance  which  his  mother 
chose  to  make  him.  He  had  never  felt  that  he 
earned  it,  unless  indeed  he  earned  it  by  sitting  in 
silence  beneath  her  gibes,  to  which  he  had  become 
so  accustomed  that  he  could  think  his  own  thoughts 
all  the  while.  One  of  the  best  things  he  had  ever 
written  upon  the  tariff  had  been  thought  out  during 
a  game  of  draughts,  while  Mrs.  Paul  had  railed 
about  Miss  Sally  Lee  until  she  was  white  with 
anger. 

One  other  thing  Miss  Townsend  overlooked  :  John 
had  no  motive  for  action  greater  than  this  self-sacri 
fice  upon  which  he  was  throwing  away  his  soul. 

"  If  Katherine  cared  anything  about  me,"  he  said 


44  SIDNEY. 

to  himself,  "  if  she  would  even  look  at  me,  I  'd  fling 
the  whole  thing  over  in  a  minute." 

So  this  makeshift  of  life  went  on,  and  John  Paul 
made  no  effort  to  do  anything  but  endure.  He 
wished  he  had  known  Miss  Townsend  before ;  per 
haps  she  would  have  cared  for  him  when  he  was 
younger.  John  felt  very  old  and  very  dull  now, 
and  the  only  thing  he  could  do  was  to  comfort  him 
self  by  seeing  Ted  often,  and  hearing  him  talk  about 
Kitty,  which  was  certainly  not  very  satisfactory  for 
a  lover. 


IY. 

MRS.  PAUL  had  a  moment  of  great  astonishment 
when  she  learned  of  Major  Lee's  invitation  to  Alan's 
friend.  Miss  Sally  had  been  her  informant ;  but 
instead  of  being  thankful  for  a  bit  of  gossip  and  a 
new  interest,  she  was  angry  that  no  one  had  told 
her  sooner. 

"  He  invited  him  day  before  yesterday  ? "  she 
said.  "  Why  are  you  so  secretive,  Sally  ?  Why 
did  n't  you  tell  me  before  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  had  a  chance  to  come  in,"  Miss  Sally 
explained,  gently.  "I  have  had  so  much  on  my 
mind  about  the  kitchen,  you  know,  and  "  — 

44  Much  difference  it  will  make  in  what  the  poor 
young  man  gets  to  eat,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Paul, 
"  whether  the  kitchen  is  on  your  mind  or  not,  Sally  ! 
And  as  for  not  having  had  a  chance  to  come  in,  why 
did  n't  you  make  a  chance  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Paul  was  really  too  much  delighted  with 
the  arrangements  of  Providence  —  "  for  such  things 
are  providential,"  she  declared  —  to  find  much  fault 
with  Miss  Sally.  She  was  full  of  interest  and 
pleased  expectancy. 

"  Young  Steele  can't  live  in  the  house  with  Sid 
ney,"  she  reflected,  "  and  not  fall  in  love  with  her ; 
the  mere  fact  that  Mortimer  Lee  does  n't  want  him 
to  will  insure  that.  Well,  I  shall  do  my  part.  No 


46  SIDNEY. 

one  can  say  that  I  ever  shirk  a  duty ! "  She  lost  no 
opportunity  to  inquire  about  Mr.  Steele ;  his  health, 
his  frame  of  mind,  his  manner.  "  All  those  things 
mean  so  much  to  a  girl,"  she  thought,  impatiently. 

When  John  Paul  came  in  to  tea,  one  evening,  a 
day  or  two  after  Robert  had  gone  to  the  major's,  she 
was  instant  with  a  question. 

"  Did  you  go  to  call  upon  Mr.  Steele  this  after 
noon  ?  I  wonder  if  you  would  know  enough  to  make 
a  call  upon  any  one  unless  I  sent  you  !  Well,  why 
don't  you  answer  me  ?  " 

«  Yes,"  said  John. 

"  Yes  ?  "  cried  his  mother.  "  Are  you  as  sparing 
of  ideas  as  you  are  of  words,  Johnny  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him." 

"Well?  What?  what?  what?  Can't  you  tell 
me  about  it?  Here  I  sit  alone  all  day,  and  you 
make  no  effort  to  entertain  me.  Your  weight  is  not 
confined  to  your  body,  my  friend.  The  only  really 
interesting  and  curious  thing  about  you,  Johnny,  is 
how  you  can  be  so  dull,  and  yet  be  my  son.  Was 
anything  said  ?  " 

"  Nothing  much,"  John  answered,  slowly.  He  was 
thinking  at  that  moment  of  Katherine  Townsend. 

"  I  '11  warrant,  —  if  you  were  there.  Johnny, 
you  Ve  less  sense  each  year.  I  suppose  I  must  put 
it  into  plain  words.  Did  Eobert  Steele  seem  im 
pressed  by  Sidney  ?  There,  you  can  answer  that !  " 

"  No,"  said  John. 

Mrs.  Paul  struck  her  hands  sharply  together. 
"  Either  you  are  blind  or  he  is,"  she  declared. 

Indeed,  there  seemed  to  be  no  one  from  whom  she 


SIDNEY.  47 

could  gain  satisfactory  information ;  least  of  all 
could  she  learn  anything  from  Sidney  herself, 
although  the  girl  came  more  than  once,  in  her  aunt's 
place,  to  read  aloud,  which  gave  Mrs.  Paul  an  op 
portunity  to  ask  questions. 

But  Sidney's  absolute  unconsciousness  baffled  her. 
Coming  in  out  of  the  icy  wind,  which  blew  the  snow 
in  drifts  along  the  path,  and  ruffled  her  hair  about 
her  forehead,  she  looked  at  the  older  woman  with 
serene  eyes,  and  a  face  on  which  the  delicate  flush, 
as  fresh  as  the  curve  of  a  sea-shell,  never  deepened 
nor  changed.  Sometimes  her  level  brows  gathered  in 
a  fleeting  frown.  It  was  not  pleasant  to  talk  so 
much  of  Mr.  Steele,  she  thought ;  it  was  enough  to 
have  him  in  the  house  ;  and  the  best  thing  to  do  was 
to  forget  his  presence,  so  far  as  she  could. 

"  I  don't  like  to  think  about  sick  people,"  she  said 
once,  in  her  placid  way  ;  "  it  is  so  disagreeable." 

Miss  Sally,  to  whom  the  remark  had  been  made, 
was  distressed  that  her  darling  should  be  annoyed, 
although,  to  be  sure,  she  said  bravely,  "  Is  it  quite 
kind  to  feel  so,  love  ?  "  But  that  little  protest  made, 
she  did  all  in  her  power  to  keep  Mr.  Steele  out  of 
her  niece's  way.  Robert  was  perfectly  aware  that 
she  did  -so.  He  felt  Sidney's  aversion,  without 
realizing  that  it  was  not  for  him,  but  for  his  suffering, 
and  the  consciousness  of  it  threw  him  back  with  in 
finite  relief  upon  Miss  Sally's  gentleness  and  pity. 
She,  at  least,  did  not  despise  him  ;  and  he  even  began 
to  tell  himself  that  her  friendship  was  an  incentive 
to  fight  for  his  honor  and  his  manhood. 

Perhaps  his  first  week  at   the  major's  was    the 


SIDNEY. 


crisis  of  Robert  Steele's  struggle  for  liberty  and 
self-respect;  but  the  last  clutch  of  the  old  habit 
struck  sharp  into  his  heart.  He  was,  however,  far 
nearer  freedom  than  he  knew,  for  he  was  so  absorbed 
in  wrestling  with  this  horror  of  weakness  that  he  did 
not  stop  to  remember  how  rapidly  Alan  was  reducing 
his  morphine.  He  was  blind  to  everything  which 
might  have  encouraged  him,  and  quite  unable  to 
perceive  his  own  progress.  He  felt  as  though  he 
were  remaining  stationary,  or  even  drifting,  little  by 
little,  further  away  from  hope.  He  spoke  after 
wards  to  Alan  of  his  mental  condition  at  that  time. 
"  It  was  a  horror  of  great  darkness,"  he  said.  "  I 
felt  —  you  know  the  old  illustration  —  as  though  a 
maelstrom  were  roaring  for  me,  to  suck  me  down 
into  furious  blackness  of  night,  and  then  as  if  I  were 
beating  my  way  out  along  a  side  current,  only  to  find 
that  it  too  was  whirling  round  the  same  terrible 
centre." 

Here,  in  this  despair,  Miss  Sally's  little  friendly, 
timid  hand  was  reached  out  to  him.  Her  kindness 
seemed  greater,  perhaps,  for  Sidney's  coldness  ;  but 
its  cheer  and  strength  no  one  knew  save  Robert  him 
self.  So  it  came  about,  when  he  had  been  at  the 
major's  two  or  three  days,  that  he  and  Miss  Sally 
began  to  sit  together  in  the  parlor  across  the  hall, 
and  leave  Sidney  and  her  father  alone  in  the  library. 

Robert  did  not  talk  much  ;  it  was  pleasure  enough 
just  to  listen  to  Miss  Sally's  mild  voice,  so  full  of 
confidence  and  respect.  She,  it  must  be  admitted, 
talked  a  great  deal.  Once  she  told  him,  and  it 
soothed  him  inexpressibly,  that  she  thought  he  had 


SIDNEY.  49 

been  so  noble  and  so  brave  about  —  that  money. 
He  must  forgive  her  for  speaking  of  it,  but  she  did 
think  so. 

That  Miss  Sally  was  as  ignorant  of  finance  as 
little  Susan,  singing  in  the  big,  sunny  kitchen,  made 
no  difference  to  Eobert  Steele ;  although  perhaps  he 
did  not  probe  her  knowledge  by  a  question  because 
he  feared  to  discover  its  shallowness.  He  was  quite 
content  to  sit  here,  in  the  long-unused  parlor,  mak 
ing  no  effort  to  talk,  only  listening  dreamily  to  her 
pleasant  chatter.  It  was  not  a  cheerful  room,  save 
for  her  voice,  even  when  the  afternoon  sunshine 
streamed  through  the  leafless  branches  of  the  ailan- 
tus  trees,  and  touched  the  faded  yellow  damask  of 
the  old  furniture  and  the  gray  paper  with  its  scat 
tered  spots  of  gilt.  Sometimes  the  sunshine  rested 
in  a  glimmering  dust  upon  the  half-length  portrait 
of  a  very  beautiful  young  woman,  who  lifted  a  stately 
head  and  throat  from  a  crimson  velvet  wrap,  and 
looked  with  calm,  level  eyes  over  the  heads  of  the 
people  in  the  room,  and  out  into  the  golden  light 
behind  the  trees.  Robert  looked  persistently  at  this 
picture  while  his  hostess  talked,  although  the  same 
indifference  which  he  had  seen  in  Sidney  chilled  him 
in  the  face  of  this  woman,  long  since  dead,  and 
made  his  heart  shiver  for  the  warmth  and  comfort 
of  Miss  Sally's  kindness. 

They  had  been  sitting  here  together  the  first  Sun 
day  of  Mr.  Steele's  visit,  when  it  occurred  to  Miss 
Sally  that  it  might  be  a  pleasure  to  him  to  see  Mrs. 
Paul,  and  so  she  proposed  that  he  should  go  to  call 
upon  her. 


50  SIDNEY. 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  is  dull  for  you,"  she  said,  apologet 
ically,  —  "just  to  talk  to  me.  Mortimer  never 
comes  in  here,  because  of  Gertrude's  picture,  you 
know,  —  he  does  not  like  to  see  it ;  and  he  and  Sid 
ney  always  spend  their  Sunday  afternoons  reading 
and  studying,  or  they  would  beg  you  to  come  into 
the  library  with  them.  But  I  am  sure  you  will  en 
joy  seeing  Mrs.  Paul.  Won't  you  go  ?  " 

To  Robert,  pale,  sad-eyed,  and  ashamed,  there 
seemed  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  that  was  to  be 
guided  by  any  one  who  would  take  the  trouble  to 
lead  him. 

"  If  you  wish  it,"  he  answered ;  "  and  if  you  will 
go,  too." 

So  they  started  out  together ;  Robert  walking 
ahead  to  make  a  path  through  the  snow  for  Miss 
Sally,  and  feeling  a  trembling  dignity  in  this  slight 
assertion  of  care  for  some  one  else.  Feathery  thim 
bles  fell  from  the  rusted  hinges  as  he  pulled  open 
the  door  in  the  wall,  and  a  wreath  of  snow  shaken 
from  the  twisted  branches  of  the  wistaria  powdered 
his  shoulders  with  misty  white.  He  laughed,  and 
made  light  of  Miss  Sally's  fear  that  he  might  take 
cold.  This,  too,  was  good  for  him. 

"  Now  what  in  the  world,"  Mrs.  Paul  was  saying, 
observing  them  from  her  bedroom  window,  "  does 
that  Sally  come  with  him  for  ?  "  However,  she 
made  haste  to  take  Scarlett's  arm,  and  welcomed 
them,  a  moment  later,  at  the  fireside  in  the  draw 
ing-room.  "  So  good  of  you  to  come  to  see  an  old 
woman,"  she  said,  smiling  at  Robert  under  dark 
brows  which  had  not  yet  lost  their  delicate  arch. 


SIDNEY.  51 

"  And  it  was  good  in  dear  Sally  to  show  you  the 
short  way  between  our  houses ;  but  you  must  not 
let  Mr.  Steele  trespass  upon  your  kindness,  Sal 
ly,  by  keeping  you  here  now,  if  you  are  needed  at 
home  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Miss  Sally,  cheerfully,  delighted 
at  Mrs.  Paul's  consideration.  "  I  can  stay  just  as 
well  as  not,  thank  you." 

"  How  fortunate !  "  returned  her  hostess,  with  the 
suggestion  of  a  shrug ;  then  she  turned  her  shoulder 
towards  Miss  Sally  and  began  to  talk  altogether  to 
Robert. 

Here,  too,  was  solace.  With  Mrs.  Paul  his  past 
was  all  a  matter  of  course.  It  was  a  little  amusing, 
perhaps,  —  an  excess  of  virtue  is  apt  to  be  amusing, 
—  but  it  could  not  change  her  friendliness,  nor  that 
charming  cordiality  which  could  forget  his  amiable 
folly.  Robert  Steele  felt  braced  into  a  glow  of  con 
fidence  and  hope  ;  not  even  the  pang  of  disgust 
with  himself,  which  came  when  his  hostess  cleverly 
turned  the  conversation  upon  Sidney,  could  rob  him 
of  that  thrill  of  courage.  In  his  heart  he  was  thank 
ing  Miss  Sally  for  it ;  but  how  could  Mrs.  Paul 
fancy  that  ? 

Alan  Crossan,  of  course,  had  a  clearer  under 
standing  of  Robert's  frame  of  mind  ;  he  knew  that 
it  was  time  to  look  for  strength  and  courage,  whether 
Miss  Sally  had  been  kind  or  not ;  but  he  was  none 
the  less  pleased,  when  he  called  at  the  major's,  to 
know  that  his  friend  had  gone  out  with  her.  The 
doctor  had  dropped  in  to  see  Mr.  Steele,  he  said, 
and  was  delighted  to  learn  that  "  Bob  was  beginning 


52  SIDNEY. 

now  to  gad  about."  He  found  the  major  and  his 
daughter  alone  in  the  small  room  beyond  the  library, 
where  the  old  man  kept  his  dearest  books  and  did 
some  little  writing,  and  where  Sidney  had  learned 
all  the  bitter  lessons  which  his  life  could  teach. 
Sunday  was  the  best  time  in  the  week  to  these  two 
friends  ;  the  beautiful,  silent  hours  marked  Sidney's 
spiritual  growth,  because  in  them  she  looked  deeper 
and  deeper  into  her  father's  love.  Miss  Sally  never 
thought  of  sitting  with  them,  even  when  she  did  not 
go  to  church ;  and  they  had  no  callers,  except  once 
in  a  while  when  John  Paul  came  in,  and  ate  a  piece 
of  Miss  Sally's  plain  cake  and  took  a  glass  of  wine 
from  the  decanter,  which,  more  out  of  regard  for 
ancient  habits  of  hospitality  than  because  of  ex 
pected  guests,  stood  on  Sunday  afternoons  on  a  side- 
table  in  the  library. 

This  December  day  was  cold  and  bright ;  the  win 
try  sunshine  crept  about  the  long  room,  gleaming 
on  the  silver  collar  of  the  decanter,  and  fading  the 
glow  of  the  smouldering  logs  in  the  fireplace.  The 
major  was  tired,  but  he  let  Sidney  lead  him  over  to 
the  old  sofa  and  arrange  the  cushions  for  his  head, 
more  for  the  happiness  of  her  tender  touch  than  for 
rest.  Then  she  had  brought  a  hassock  to  his  side, 
and  a  book,  and  without  words  they  were  very 
happy. 

Major  Lee  would  have  been  dismayed  if  he  had 
seen  his  daughter  ungracious,  yet,  as  he  rose  to  wel 
come  Alan,  he  felt  vaguely  that  Sidney  regretted 
"  this  pleasing  interruption "  (it  was  thus  he  an 
swered  the  doctor's  apology)  less  than  he  divL  It 


SIDNEY.  53 

was  she  who  said,  in  her  glad  young  voice,  "  You 
must  wait  until  Mr.  Steele  comes  back,  Alan ;  "  and 
the  major  could  do  no  less  than  beg  him  to  be  seated, 
adding,  "  And  you  will  take  tea  with  us,  sir  ?  "  Of 
course  the  young  man  accepted  the  invitation ;  in 
deed,  he  had  counted  upon  receiving  it. 

"  It 's  very  good  of  Miss  Sally,"  he  said,  "  to  de 
vote  herself  to  Steele  in  this  way,  instead  of  going 
to  church.  But  what  will  Mr.  Brown  say?  His 
name  is  Brown,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  next  Sunday  she  will  induce  Mr.  Steele 
to  accompany  her  to  church,"  the  major  answered. 

"  She  will  not  have  to  urge  him,"  Alan  declared. 
"  He  is  one  of  those  naturally  religious  people,  you 
know.  He  goes  to  church  as  a  matter  of  course." 

"  Ah?  "  returned  Major  Lee.  Mr.  Robert  Steele's 
eccentricities  did  not  interest  him. 

But  this  mention  of  church-going  introduced  a 
subject  upon  which  Alan  wanted  to  speak  to  the 
older  man.  To  be  able  to  express  his  own  opinion 
on  one  or  two  points  would  be  an  escape  for  the  ir 
ritation  which  the  major's  attitude  had  aroused  in 
him. 

"  To  bring  up  a  girl  in  this  way  is  outrageous  !  " 
he  had  said  to  himself  a  dozen  times  since  he  had 
come  back  to  Mercer ;  for  Alan  knew  all  about  the 
major's  theories  upon  education.  Miss  Sally's  quick 
and  tender  and  somewhat  shallow  nature  made  re 
serve  about  herself  impossible,  and  her  abundant 
kindliness  claimed  her  friends'  affairs  as  her  own. 
So,  very  long  ago,  Mrs.  Paul  had  been  told  that  Sid 
ney  was  never  to  marry,  and  why  ;  and,  naturally, 


54  SIDNEY. 

Alan  Crossan's  mother  had  known  ;  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Brown,  down  in  the  little  rectory  of  St.  James 
the  Less,  —  although,  indeed,  that  the  clergyman 
was  aware  of  Mortimer  Lee's  unholy  project  was 
not  entirely  due  to  Miss  Sally.  The  major  himself 
had  had  one  keen,  clear  word  with  the  young  man 
concerning  his  daughter's  training,  arid  Mr.  Brown, 
sorry  and  disapproving,  had  yet,  in  his  calls  upon 
Miss  Sally  in  her  brother's  house,  respected  the  fa 
ther  in  the  infidel,  and  made  no  effort  to  save  Sid 
ney's  soul. 

Little  by  little,  Major  Lee's  purpose  had  become 
a  subject  of  half -amused,  half  -  indignant  gossip. 
Probably  he  was  not  aware  of  it,  but  it  would  not 
have  troubled  him  at  all  had  he  learned  it.  There 
was  nothing  in  this  world  now  which  could  trouble 
Mortimer  Lee,  if  Sidney  were  well  and  happy. 
Very  literally,  he  lived  for  her.  To  show  her  how 
to  live,  he  was  content  to  bear  life.  If  the  sight  of 
his  enduring  pain  could  save  her  from  pain,  it  was 
enough. 

Sidney,  he  had  said,  was  to  be  taught  to  seek  for 
truth  ;  to  do  without  illusions  ;  to  look  the  facts  of 
life  full  in  the  face.  She  was  to  judge,  emotionally, 
first,  whether  it  was  probable  that  there  was  a  benefi 
cent  and  all-powerful  Being  in  a  world  which  held 
at  the  same  time  Love  and  Death  ;  and  next,  with 
inexorable  logic,  she  was  to  find  a  universe  of  law, 
empty  of  God.  Reason,  with  relentless  and  majes 
tic  steps,  trampled  upon  many  things  before  this 
conviction  was  reached.  It  pointed  out  the  myths 
and  absurdities  of  the  Bible ;  it  left  no  hope  of  per- 


SIDNEY.  55 

immortality  ;  it  destroyed  the  Christ  of  Chris 
tianity.  It  demonstrated  that  morality  and  expedi 
ency  were  synonymous.  It  counseled  negation  in 
stead  of  happiness.  More  than  all,  it  pointed  out 
the  mad  folly  of  love  in  a  world  where  death  follows 
love  like  its  own  shadow. 

As  a  result,  Sidney  was  sincere,  but  not  earnest ; 
which  is  perhaps  inevitable,  when  one  believes,  but 
does  not  feel.  She  simply  took  her  father's  word, 
and  so  her  unbelief  was  not  her  own,  but  his. 

Major  Lee  had  not  dogmatized  his  infidelity ;  it 
was  his  opinion  that  dogma  in  negation  was  as  un- 
philosophical  as  the  dogmatic  assertions  of  theology. 
He  had  only  shown  his  daughter  certain  terrible 
facts,  in  a  terrible  world,  and  then  subtly  guided  her 
inference.  He  had  been  careful  to  point  out  to  her 
the  falsehoods,  and  wilful  blindnesses,  and  astonish 
ing  egotism  of  Christianity,  and  with  this  to  present 
the  calm  reasonableness  of  law. 

That  Christians  called  Law  "God,"  Sidney  knew; 
but  what  they  felt  when  they  said  "  God  "  was  un 
known  to  her.  With  all  his  fairness,  Major  Lee  had 
never  been  able  to  tell  his  daughter  that.  He  had 
spread  his  life,  like  a  strange  and  dreadful  picture, 
before  her  eyes,  and  she  had  seen,  with  terror,  that 
it  had  been  blasted  by  love  and  death.  Love,  he 
had  declared,  was  the  certain  road  to  despair  ;  and 
she  was  instant  to  put  his  deduction  into  words,  — 
therefore,  never  love. 

This  conclusion  of  hers  was  as  unaffected  as  the 
most  spontaneous  impulses  in  the  lives  of  other 
women,  and  it  became  perfectly  natural.  Rappac- 


56  SIDNEY. 

cini's  daughter,  it  will  be  remembered,  found,  in 
course  of  time,  poison  her  daily  and  necessary  food. 

Alan  Crossan,  seeing  the  result  of  Major  Lee's 
teachings  in  Sidney's  serene  indifference  and  in 
her  understood  determination  never  to  marry,  had 
burned  to  attack  the  sad  old  man.  Yet,  oddly 
enough,  though  his  indignation  was  no  less,  he  had 
felt  of  late  a  growing  disinclination  to  antagonize  Sid 
ney's  father.  So,  instead  of  rushing  into  argument 
upon  the  wisdom  of  love,  he  found  himself  consider 
ing  that  skepticism  from  which,  he  was  assured,  the 
major's  morbid  theories  sprang. 

"You  never  go  to  church,  do  you,  Sidney?"  he 
began. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  occasionally.  I  like  the 
music." 

"Oh,"  said  Alan,  rather  blankly,  "I  thought, 
from  something  you  said  once  about  belief,  that 
you  would  hardly  go." 

"  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  belief,"  Sidney  ex 
plained.  "  I  never  think  of  that,  except  some 
times." 

The  major  looked  up  at  his  daughter  in  silence. 

"  I  think  of  it,"  she  said,  quite  simply  and  gravely, 
answering  the  question  in  his  eyes,  "  when  I  see  the 
power  which  it  has.  Oh,  the  lif ted-up  look  one  often 
sees !  Poor  little  Mrs.  Brown,  the  light  in  her  face 
on  Easter,  —  you  know  their  eldest  son  died  just 
before  Easter  ?  —  it  meant  absolute  confidence.  And 
then  to  think  it  is  only  belief,  and  not  knowledge, 
which  causes  such  confidence  !  It  is  wonderful,  even 
if  it  is  not  real." 


SIDNEY.  57 

"  Yes,"  observed  the  major,  "  it  is  certainly  most 
interesting  that  a  self-created  illusion  will  sustain 
the  soul  in  such  a  crisis,  even  temporarily.  Yet  it 
always  fails.  It  cannot  outlast  the  capacity  of  the 
brain  for  nervous  exaltation.  Mrs.  Brown's  resigna 
tion  did  not  last,  you  remember,  —  poor  soul  —  poor 
soul ! "  The  major,  with  his  long  white  fingers 
pressed  together,  looked  absently  at  the  spark  of 
sunshine  in  the  little  worn  ring  upon  his  left  hand. 

44 1  don't  think  you  ought  to  call  belief  unreal," 
the  doctor  protested.  4<  True  or  false,  it  is  real  to 
the  believer." 

44  You  mean  the  hope  of  immortality  and  reunion, 
and  all  that  ?  "  Sidney  asked,  a  little  disdainfully. 
44  Do  you  think  that  is  often  real  to  people  ?  " 

44  Yes,"  he  said  ;  44  but  all  the  belief  in  the  world 
cannot  overcome  the  weakness  of  human  nature." 

The  major  smiled.  44  You  are  right.  It  cannot 
change  facts ;  assertions  will  not  conquer  the  inev 
itable." 

44  And,  Alan,"  cried  the  girl  earnestly,  "  surely,  if 
its  belief  were  genuine,  human  nature  is  great 
enough,  love  is  great  enough,  not  to  be  so  horribly 
selfish  as  to  mourn  ;  —  if  it  could  really  believe  that 
death  did  not  end  all,  and  there  was  a  heaven  and 
happiness.  They  have  to  say  so,  the  Christians,  — 
and  I  suppose  they  think  they  believe  it,  or  else  they 
could  not  love  any  one,  you  know ;  but  you  can  see 
that  it  is  not  lasting,  as  a  reality  would  be,  for  they 
mourn  just  as  much  as  the  people  who  have  no  illu 
sions.  The  talk  of  the  church  about  immortality, 
and  meeting  again,  and  Easter,  why,  it  seems  to  me 


58  SIDNEY. 

like  taking  hasheesh  ;  but  the  burning  pyre,  and  the 
smoke,  and  the  flames  are  there,  all  the  same." 

Alan  did  not  answer  her.  His  mother  was  in  his 
heart.  Had  he  not  loved  her  enough  to  rejoice  in 
her  happiness,  if,  in  his  soul,  he  had  believed  that 
she  was  happier,  —  that  she  was  at  all  ?  Instead  — 
and  the  memory  of  those  empty  days  came  back 
like  a  sickness  of  the  soul.  Perhaps  Sidney  was 
right,  and  his  belief  was  not  genuine. 

u  You  are  not  a  Christian,  are  you,  Alan  ?  "  Sid 
ney  asked,  suddenly. 

u  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  I  suppose  I 
am.  But  I  prefer  to  keep  my  illusions,  if  you 
please  ;  so  I  don't  examine  myself  very  critically." 

"  How  can  you  say  that !  "  cried  Sidney.  "  How 
can  you  even  think  that  perhaps  your  beliefs  are 
illusions !  Either,  it  seems  to  me,  a  man  would 
have  to  believe  with  all  his  heart,  and  not  know  that 
he  was  blind  to  facts,  or  else  see  the  truth  of  life 
and  make  the  best  of  it." 

"  Or  the  worst,"  Alan  answered,  lightly.  "  There 
was  Steele's  father ;  every  one  says  he  was  a  most 
unhappy  man.  He  was  a  freethinker,  was  n't  he, 
Major  Lee,  —  what  would  be  called  an  agnostic,  to- 
day?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  major. 

"  And  you,  —  you  are  also  an  agnostic,  are  you 
not?" 

The  major  looked  at  him,  with  mild  patience  in 
his  eyes.  "  I  do  not  call  myself  so.  I  do  not  know 
enough  ;  I  have  not  yet  compassed  the  sum  of  my 


SIDNEY.  59 

Alan  felt  instinctively  that  Sidney's  father  re 
garded  him  with  disapproval,  and  as  one  who  spoke 
of  great  things  flippantly.  A  little  color  came  into 
his  dark  cheek,  and  he  made  haste  to  comment  upon 
the  fact  that  Robert  Steele,  with  such  a  father,  had 
a  deeply  religions  nature.  "  I  don't  mean  that  he 
is  one  of  your  stiff  sectarian  fellows,"  he  explained, 
"  only  that  he  is  so  devout  that  he  can  worship  any 
where  —  from  a  Quaker  meeting-house  to  St.  Peters. 
Very  likely  he  gets  it  from  his  mother ;  she  became 
a  Roman  Catholic,  you  remember.  It  was  always  a 
surprise  to  me  that  so  intelligent  a  woman  could  be 
a  Catholic." 

The  major  smiled.  "But  religion  and  intelli 
gence  have  nothing  to  do  with  each  other,  my  young 
friend." 

Alan  laughed.     "Very  little,  I  acknowledge." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  say  that,  and  still  call  yourself 
a  Christian  !  "  said  Sidney. 

"I  suppose,"  observed  the  major,  courteously, 
"  that  the  doctor  would  spare  himself  the  pain  of 
knowledge." 

"No,"  answered  the  girl,  looking  with  tender 
gratitude  at  her  father,  "  it  is  only  knowledge  which 
spares  pain." 

"  And  so,"  Alan  declared,  amused  and  half  an 
noyed,  "  you  are  to  have  no  pain  in  life,  Sidney, 
because  your  knowledge  has  taught  you  to  cast  out 
the  things  that  comfort  other  people,  and  save  them 
from  the  fear  of  death,  —  I  mean  the  belief  in  God 
and  immortality  ?  " 

He  had  risen,  and  was  standing  in  his  favorite 


60  SIDNEY. 

attitude  by  the  fire,  his  elbow  on  the  mantel  and  his 
hand  grasping  his  coat  collar.  His  dark,  sensitive 
face  was  flushed  a  little  by  the  glow  of  the  logs. 
The  sunshine  had  quite  gone,  and  the  dusk  was  be 
ginning  to  creep  in  from  the  garden.  "  How  can 
any  knowledge  spare  such  suffering?"  he  went  on. 
"  It  is  bound  to  come  to  us  all ;  we  cannot  cheat 
life,  or  lose  the  anticipation  and  the  fear  of  death. 
Where  was  there  ever  a  happy  soul,  except  a 
child  ?  " 

"  Here,"  said  Major  Lee ;  he  touched  Sidney's 
shoulder  as  he  spoke.  There  was  something  in  his 
voice  which  made  the  young  man  start.  The  pas 
sion  of  tenderness  in  the  worn  old  face  sobered  him 
into  earnestness. 

"  But  some  time,"  —  he  stammered,  u  some  time 
—  even  if  she  loves  no  one  else  "  — 

"  She  will  lose  me  ?  Yes.  But  that  is  regret,  not 
grief.  Affection  for  a  parent  is  natural;  it  is  the 
instinct  of  the  animal ;  it  is  not  —  love" 

His  voice  shook  with  sudden  excitement,  and  he 
said  that  word  with  the  awe  of  one  who  takes  the 
unspeakable  name  upon  his  lips. 

u  But,"  Alan  protested,  "  you  make  it  appear  that 
love  is  the  curse  of  life  !  " 

The  major  was  silent. 

"  You  forget,"  insisted  the  young  man,  "  that  love 
is  its  own  exceeding  great  reward,  —  it  is  worth  the 
pain." 

"  You  have,  of  course,  experienced  both  love  and 
grief,  that  you  speak  so  positively,"  said  Mortimer 
Lee,  his  face  darkening  in  the  shadows. 


SIDNEY.  61 

A  sharp  reality  came  into  the  moment.  Alan 
knew  that  in  the  sense  in  which  the  older  man  spoke 
he  had  never  felt  either.  "  No,"  he  answered,  "  but 
I  know  that  life  is  beautiful  and  good  where  there  is 
love,  —  I  mean  the  love  of  a  man  and  woman  :  it  is 
not  always  fierce  and  terrible ;  it  does  not  of  neces 
sity  involve  the  unreason  of  passion;  and  it  does 
glorify  existence.  But  life  is  still  good,  even  when 
death  takes  love  out  of  it." 

"  I  do  not  call  that  love,"  said  the  major,  "which 
can  be  taken  away  and  leave  —  anything !  Passion, 
truly,  is  but  the  incident  of  love,  but  love  and  the 
worth  of  life  end  together."  The  momentary  agita 
tion  had  left  his  face  ;  he  even  smiled  a  little  at 
Alan's  excitement. 

"But,"  persisted  the  young  man,  confused,  by 
Major  Lee's  contempt  and  his  own  lack  of  words, 
into  contradicting  himself,  "  we  must  love.  It  means 
ambition  and  hope,  and  all  that  makes  life  worth 
having.  Why,  life  without  it,  or  without  any  com 
fort  in  religion  to  help  a  man  meet  death,  —  life  is 
tragedy  !  " 

"  Has  that  iust  struck  you  ?  "  said  the  major. 


V. 


"  Now,  Sally,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  "  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  about  Sidney  ;  just  put  that  book  down,  will 
you  ?  Are  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  Mr. 
Steele  that  you  want  to  plunge  into  it  at  once  ?  Or 
is  it  that  you  are  so  charmed  with  '  Entre  Nous 
Trois?'" 

Miss  Sally's  quick  disclaimer  only  made  Mrs.  Paul 
shrug  her  shoulders. 

"  You  have  not  enough  sense,  my  dear,  to  appre 
ciate  it ;  it  can't  be  called  innocence,  at  your  age." 

They  were  sitting  in  the  little  room  which  opened 
out  of  Mrs.  Paul's  bed-room :  in  it  she  wrote  her 
notes,  or  received  her  head  clerk  from  the  ware 
house,  or  looked  through  her  housekeeping  accounts. 
Davids  knew  that  room  well.  He  knew  that  when 
Mrs.  Paul  sent  Scarlett  to  summon  him  there,  it  was 
with  the  intention  of  finding  fault.  "Law,  now," 
he  had  often  remarked  to  Scarlett,  "  if  Mr.  John 
only  knew  how  to  handle  her  as  I  do  !  Give  in  just 
a  bit  here,  and  stick  it  out  there,  and  let  on  you  're 
more  'n  half  offended,  and  law  !  she  comes  round  in 
a  minute.  But  Mr.  John  would  rather  bear  her 
tongue  than  argufy.  People  that  keep  such  close 
mouths,"  said  Davids,  with  a  reproachful  look  at  the 
little  silent  serving-woman,  "are  exasperating.  I 
ain't  one  to  deny  it,  for  all  I  think  of  Mr.  John." 


SIDNEY.  63 

Miss  Sally  often  read  aloud  in  this  small,  severe 
room,  —  so  small  that  Mrs.  Paul,  sitting  by  the  win 
dow  which  overlooked  Major  Lee's  library,  with  her 
back  to  the  reader,  shut  out  a  great  deal  of  light,  and 
made  it  necessary  that  Miss  Sail}  should  hold  the 
book  close  to  her  eyes.  Just  now,  however,  Mrs. 
Paul  had  turned  a  little  so  that  she  might  look  at 
her.  "  For  I  want  you  to  pay  attention,  if  you  know 
how,  to  what  I  am  going  to  say,"  she  had  explained  ; 
and  Miss  Sally  had  put  down  the  novel  with  a  sigh 
which  was  at  once  relief  and  apprehension. 

Mrs.  Paul  permitted  herself,  in  this  room,  some 
thing  which  was  an  approach  to  neglige :  the  bit  of 
lace  which  did  duty  for  a  cap  upon  the  soft  puffs  of 
her  white  hair  was  missing,  and  she  wore  a  wrapper 
of  changeable  silk,  lavender  and  black,  with  an  edge 
of  black  fur  down  the  front  and  around  the  throat 
and  wrists  ;  her  white,  delicate  hands  were  without 
rings.  "  The  morning,"  announced  Mrs.  Paul,  lean 
ing  back  among  her  cushions,  listening  to  the  French 
novel,  "  is  for  work,  and  jewels  are  for  the  leisure  of 
a  drawing-room.  Thank  God,  I  understand  the  pro 
prieties  of  life,  or  how  would  Sidney  ever  be  taught  ? 
No  one,  Sally,  not  even  Mortimer  Lee,  insists  more 
upon  the  observance  of  propriety  than  I  do ;  but 
you  can  make  a  goose  of  yourself  about  it,  and  that 
is  just  what  you  do,  in  looking  after  Sidney  and 
young  Steele." 

"  I  ?  "  said  Miss  Sally,  startled  into  self-defense. 
"  Why,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  dear  Mrs. 
Paul !  " 

"  What  should  I  mean,"  cried  the  other,  "  except 


64  SIDNEY. 

that  you  are  with  him  all  the  time,  —  not  Sidney ! 
You  seem  to  think  a  girl  must  not  sit  with  a  young 
man,  or  walk  with  him,  or  let  him  so  much  as  look 
at  her.  All  very  well,  to  a  certain  extent,  but  are 
you  never  going  to  give  him  an  opportunity  ?  I  de 
clare,  one  would  think  you  were  in  love  with  him 
yourself." 

"Opportunity?"  faltered  Miss  Sally. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Paul,  emphatically.  "  He 
has  been  at  the  major's  nearly  three  weeks ;  he 
must  have  been  impressed  by  Sidney,  if  you  had 
ever  permitted  them  to  be  alone  for  a  moment,  so 
that  she  could  talk.  She  can't,  with  your  chatter 
going  on,  Sally  ;  you  know  that  as  well  as  I  do. 
With  this  absurd  idea  of  propriety,  you  never  leave 
them  for  an  instant." 

Miss  Sally's  face  flushed  a  dull  and  painful  red, 
and  then  faded  into  breathless  pallor ;  in  her  aston 
ishment,  she  even  gasped  a  little,  with  a  sob  in  her 
throat.  She  was  used  to  being  found  fault  with, 
but  she  never  could  get  used  to  the  pain  of  it. 

"  Mrs.  Paul,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean ;  I  —  I  never  thought  of  propriety.  Mr. 
Steele  is  not  very  strong,  and  I  have  tried  to  take 
care  of  him.  Sidney  does  not  want  to  talk  much  to 
him,  and  Mortimer  is  so  much  occupied  that  he  can 
not  entertain  him ;  it  would  not  be  polite  to  leave 
him  alone,  so  I  try  to  be  with  him.  And  as  for  Sid 
ney,  it  never  could  make  any  difference  how  much 
she  talked  to  Mr.  Steele  or  to  any  young  man ;  you 
know  she  will  never  care  for  anybody." 

44 1  know  you  are  a  fool,  Sally,"  said  Mrs.  Paul, 


SIDNEY.  65 

calmly.  "  If  this  has  been  stupidity  on  your  part, 
instead  of  anything  better,  —  I  gave  you  credit  for 
something  better,  you  see,  —  all  I  can  say  is,  you 
can't  plead  ignorance  any  longer.  Arrange  things 
a  little.  Lord !  have  you  no  imagination  ?  Send 
Sidney  over  with  a  message  to  me,  this  afternoon, 
and  ask  him  to  see  her  through  the  garden." 

"  But  I  have  n't  any  message,  and  Sidney  would 
not"  — 

Mrs.  Paul  sat  up  quite  straight,  and  tapped  her 
foot  for  a  moment. 

Miss  Sally  was  too  fluttered  to  continue. 

"  Well,  you  will  send  her  over  here  this  afternoon  ; 
remember !  Now  read  ;  that 's  what  you  are  here 
for.  I  gave  up  any  hope  of  conversation  long  ago." 
And  Miss  Sally,  in  a  trembling  voice,  began. 

She  would  have  been  glad  if  she  had  been  allowed 
to  explain  a  little  further.  She  would  have  re 
peated  once  more  that  unforgotten  talk  with  her 
brother,  to  show  how  impossible  it  was  that  Sidney 
should  ever  fall  in  love  with  any  one,  no  matter 
what  "  opportunity  "  —  Miss  Sally  flushed  as  that 
word  came  into  her  mind  —  was  offered. 

She  went  on  reading  quite  steadily,  but  that  scene 
of  twenty-two  years  ago  rose  before  her  eyes.  How 
much  younger  Mortimer  was  then,  but  how  old  he 
looked  that  night !  She  had  gone  upstairs  to  put 
Sidney  to  bed,  and  her  brother  had  entered  just  as 
the  child  lisped  after  her  aunt,  her  sleepy  head  on 
Miss  Sally's  shoulder,  "  God  bless  dear  father  and 
aunt  Sally,  and  make  Sidney  a  good  girl,  for  Jesus' 
sake.  Amen."  In  the  dusk  of  the  fire-lit  room,  his 


66  SIDNEY. 

sister  saw  a  strange  expression  on  Mortimer  Lee's 
face,  but  he  only  said,  quietly,  "  When  the  child  is 
asleep,  Sarah,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  let  me  see 
you  in  the  library?"  With  what  a  light  heart 
she  had  gone  down-stairs  to  hear  what  he  had  to 
say,  —  she  was  young  then,  only  seventeen,  —  with 
what  high  hopes  of  usefulness  and  comfort  and  love 
for  the  little  motherless  baby  and  the  bereaved  and 
lonely  man!  He  was  walking  restlessly  about  his 
library ;  his  face  was  haggard,  and  bitter  lines  were 
deepening  about  his  lips.  He  stood  still  when  his 
sister  entered.  "  Sit  down,"  he  said  curtly.  "  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you.  I  heard  the  child 
praying  when  I  came  into  her  room.  It  must  not 
happen  again,  Sarah." 

"  But  —  but,  Mortimer  "  -  Miss  Sally  answered, 
trembling,  for  his  face  frightened  her.  "  I  thought 
I  ought  to  teach  her  to  say  her  prayers.  Do  you 
mean  that  you  are  going  to,  brother  ?  " 

"  I !  "  he  said,  and  laughed.  "  Yes ;  yes  ;  that 's 
it.  I  am  going  to  teach  her,  my  dear." 

"  Then  you  will  hear  her  say  her  prayers  ?  "  she 
asked.  It  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  her  that  the 
child's  father  should  claim  the  sweet  task.  Major 
Lee  looked  at  her  with  pitying  impatience. 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,  Sarah.  Sidney  is 
to  have  no  religious  instruction." 

His  sister  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  dismay 
robbed  her  of  words. 

"  I  will  not  have  this  folly  of  prayer  in  my  house," 
he  continued,  —  "at  least  for  the  child.  You  may 
pray,  and  believe,  and  suffer,  if  you  want  to  ;  your 


SIDNEY.  67 

life  is  your  own.  But  Sidney  is  mine.  She  shall 
know  that  this  God  you  talk  of  and  this  pretty  hope 
of  immortality  have  no  more  foundation  in  reason 
than  her  fairy  stories.  No  miserable  egotism  shall 
induce  Sidney  to  address  her  puny  wishes  to  the 
First  Cause,  nor  make  her  fancy  that  she  is  immor 
tal,  so  that  she  may  dare  to  fasten  her  soul  on 
some  other  soul,  which  at  any  instant  death  may 
snatch  away  from  her.  Without  your  God  and 
this  idea  of  immortality  she  will  not  love,  and  so 
she  shall  escape  suffering." 

Miss  Sally  could  not  argue  ;  she  could  only  pro 
test.  She  clang,  sobbing,  to  his  arm,  which  never 
relaxed  to  take  her  to  his  heart. 

"  Oh,  Mortimer,  don't  —  don't  say  those  things! 
Oh,  spare  the  child !  Don't  take  God  away  from 
her.  She  can't  live  without  God.  And  oh,  let  her 
love  somebody,  Mortimer,  if  it 's  only  me !  " 

"  Love  you  ?  "  he  said  sharply.  "  Of  course,  that 
sort  of  affection,  —  certainly.  I  was  not  speaking 
of  that.  She  will  be  fond  of  me,  undoubtedly.  I 
meant  —  love  !  " 

He  groaned  as  he  spoke,  and  Miss  Sally  dared 
not  look  at  him.  "  Oh,  brother,"  she  entreated, 
"  don't  say  she  must  never  marry !  People  are 
happy  who  care  for  each  other.  You  and  Gertrude 
were  happy." 

"  You  think  people  are  happy,  do  you  ?  "  he  an 
swered.  "  It  is  only  observation,  not  experience, 
which  draws  such  a  conclusion.  There  is  not, — 
listen,  Sarah,  —  there  is  not  an  hour  of  a  day,  no 
matter  how  heavenly  happy  it  may  be,  when  the  fear 


68  SIDNEY. 

of  death,  the  terror  of  the  certain  parting,  does  not 
strike  upon  a  man's  heart.  It  stains  every  hope,  it 
darkens  every  thought;  and  that  you  call  happi 
ness  !  "  He  pushed  her  away  from  him,  and  began 
again  that  terrible  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  But,  Mortimer,  dear  brother,  listen  !  "  she  cried, 
the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  "  God  makes  up 
for  it  afterwards,  when  we  meet  those  we  love." 

"We  do  not  meet  them,"  he  said,  turning  and 
looking  at  her  with  stern  eyes.  "  What !  could  life 
be  endured  one  instant  if  I  thought  she  was  —  any 
where  ?  Could  I  wait  long  enough  to  think  before 
I  followed  her  —  to  search  for  her  —  oh,  to  search 
for  her !  " 

He  dropped  his  face  in  his  hands.  It  seemed  to 
Sally  Lee  as  though  she  dared  not  breathe  until  he 
spoke  again. 

"  So  you  think  your  God  would  add  that  misery 
too  ?  Well,  if  it  makes  you  happier,  child,  —  but 
keep  it  to  yourself.  If  your  imagination  can  create 
a  Being  who  permits  love  and  death  in  the  same 
world,  and  yet  is  not  a  —  I  suppose  you  can  find 
some  comfort.  But  not  one  word  to  Sidney,  remem 
ber.  I  am  going  to  save  her  from  love,  and  then 
perhaps  she  will  forgive  me  that  she  has  this  cruel 
and  damnable  thing  called  life." 

He  left  her  without  another  word,  and  Miss  Sally 
heard  the  key  turn  in  the  door  of  his  little  room  be 
yond  the  library.  As  for  her  she  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  sofa  and  cried  as  though  her  young 
heart  would  break,  for  her  brother  and  for  the  baby 
who  was  to  be  the  subject  of  his  unnatural  and  un- 


SIDNEY.  69 

Christian  grief.  "  If  only  I  can  be  good,  the  dear 
child  cannot  help  coming  to  the  Saviour,"  she  said, 

between  her  sobs.   "  because   she  will  see  how  He 
^* 

helps  and  comforts  me.  Oh,  I  will  try  to  be  good. 
And  if  I  'm  happy  when  I  am  married,  she  will 
know  that  Mortimer  is  all  wrong." 

But  Christianity  taught  Miss  Sally  no  subtlety, 
only  simple-mindedness;  so  how  could  she  contend 
with  the  clear  and  clever  reasoning  which,  little  by 
little,  drew  hopes  and  illusions  from  before  the  eyes 
of  the  growing  girl,  and  displayed  the  baseness  and 
bitterness  of  life,  while  at  the  same  time  Sidney's 
instinct  showed  her  in  her  father's  character,  that 
this  cruel  knowledge  was  compatible  with  spotless 
honor  and  gracious  sweetness !  As  for  the  other 
way  in  which  Miss  Sally  was  to  teach  her  niece,  the 
gradual  years  had  blurred  her  anticipation  of  mar 
riage  ;  for,  like  all  those  mild  souls  who  are  born  old 
maids,  she  had  cherished  the  conviction  that  marriage 
was  a  woman's  duty,  and  looked  forward  to  it  as  a 
matter  of  course.  Now,  at  nearly  forty,  although, 
from  force  of  habit,  vague  thoughts  of  it  flitted 
through  her  mind  at  times,  she  had  ceased  to  think 
of  it  as  a  probability ;  the  cares  of  housekeeping  and 
the  interests  of  other  people  made  her  assume  and 
feel  a  sedateness  far  beyond  her  years ;  and  so,  in 
stead  of  precept  or  conscious  example,  she  simply 
loved. 

It  all  came  back  to  her  as  she  sat  reading  the 
unsavory  novel ;  and  if  Mrs.  Paul  had  not  been  so 
interested  in  the  plans  she  was  making  for  Sidney, 
she  might  have  noticed  the  vagueness  of  the  reader's 
voice. 


70  SIDNEY, 

"  I  should  just  like  to  tell  her  there  is  no  use  in 
thinking  of  Sidney's  falling  in  love,"  Miss  Sally 
was  saying  to  herself.  "  Mortimer  would  never  per 
mit  it,  and  how  could  I  seern  to  bring  it  about 
against  his  wishes  —  and  Sidney !  "  It  seemed  to 
Miss  Sally,  in  spite  of  her  theories  about  the  sphere 
of  woman,  improper  to  think  of  Sidney  in  such  a 
way. 

"  Do  go,"  Mrs.  Paul  said,  suddenly,  in  the  middle 
of  a  sentence,  "  and  send  Scarlett  to  me  as  you  go 
down-stairs.  Lord,  what  a  book  !  There  is  sorrow 
enough  in  real  life  without  having  tragedies  in  novels. 
I  want  to  be  amused,  if  you  please.  I  hope  you  will 
make  a  better  selection  next  time." 

Miss  Sally's  horrified  protest  that  the  choice  had 
not  been  hers  delighted  Mrs.  Paul. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  she  said.  "  You  haven't 
sense  enough.  Every  woman  of  the  world  should  read 
such  books,  so  as  to  make  allowance  for  life  and 
learn  to  be  charitable ;  it  is  a  religious  duty.  But 
you  will  never  be  a  woman  of  the  world,  my  dear !  " 

"  I  think,"  returned  Miss  Sally,  timidly,  "  a  bad 
book  can't  teach  us  charity  if  it  amuses  us  too." 

Occasionally  this  gentle  and  not  very  sensible 
little  creature  made  a  remark  implying  a  moral 
bravery  of  which  she  could  not  have  been  supposed 
capable. 

"  I  could  n't  let  her  speak  of  wicked  books  in  that 
way,"  she  thought,  as  she  went  down-stairs,  her 
heart  pounding  with  fright. 

She  gave  Mrs.  Paul's  message  to  Sidney,  and 
dared  not  omit  adding,  "  Perhaps  Mr.  Steele  will 
walk  across  the  garden  with  you,  my  love?  " 


SIDNEY.  71 

"  No,"  said  the  young  woman,  looking  at  him  with 
wide,  calm  eyes,  "  I  will  not  trouble  Mr.  Steele." 

He  had  risen  with  quick  pleasure,  but  at  Sidney's 
words  he  shrank  back.  "  She  does  not  want  me," 
he  thought,  and  with  bitter  gratitude  his  mind  re 
turned  to  Miss  Sally.  The  thought  of  her  kindness 
was  like  wine  to  a  resolution  which  sometimes  flagged  ; 
it  never  failed  him  when  the  struggle  was  hard. 
How  much  this  courage  which  came  with  the  thought 
of  her,  was  due  to  increasing  bodily  health  Robert 
Steele  never  asked  himself. 

When,  late  that  afternoon,  Sidney  opened  the 
green  baize  door  of  Mrs.  Paul's  drawing-room,  she 
found  her  sitting  by  the  fire.  She  seemed  to  be  ex 
pecting  some  one,  the  girl  thought ;  at  least,  as  Sid 
ney  entered,  she  looked  beyond  her  into  the  hall. 
u  Well  ? "  she  said  ;  and  then,  "  Did  you  come 
alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Sidney  answered,  brightly.  "  Aunt  Sally 
told  me  that  you  wanted  to  see  me." 

"  That  Sally  I  "  said  Mrs.  Paul,  under  her  breath. 
"  But  why  did  you  not  ask  that  poor,  forlorn  Mr. 
Steele  to  come  with  you  ?  I  'm  sure  he  can't  find 
your  aunt's  conversation  very  interesting ;  my  draw 
ing-room  might  be  a  little  more  entertaining." 

"  I  did  not  think  of  amusing  him,"  said  the  girl. 
"  Aunt  Sally  proposed  that  he  should  walk  across 
the  garden  with  me,  as  though  I  were  afraid  to  come 
alone !  "  She  smiled,  but  Mrs.  Paul  made  an  im 
patient  gesture. 

"  Well,  never  mind  now.  (I  '11  see  Sally  to-mor 
row  !)  Sit  down,  my  dear." 


72  SIDNEY. 

"Can't  I  read  to  you?"  Sidney  asked.  "You 
are  alone,  and  "  — 

"I'm  always  alone,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  sharply; 
"  do  n't  say  foolish  things.  No.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

She  waited  while  Scarlett  placed  before  the  fire  a 
screen,  made  of  a  fan,  which  had  nymphs  and 
shepherds  painted  upon  it.  Then  she  leaned  her 
head  against  the  carved  and  uncomfortable  back  of 
her  chair,  and  looked  up  at  Sidney.  Her  keen  dark 
eyes  had  an  unwonted  gentleness  in  them. 

"  My  dear,"  she  began,  "  you  must  be  a  little  more 
thoughtful  for  your  poor  sick  man.  Talk  to  him 
sometimes;  it  must  be  very  dull  when  your  father  is 
not  at  home,  if  you  never  speak  to  him." 

Sidney  raised  her  eyebrows.  "I  don't  like  to 
talk  to  him,"  she  announced,  calmly ;  "  he  is  n't  ex 
actly  ill,  but  to  see  any  one  who  is  not  quite  well  is 
not  pleasant.  It  is  n't  as  if  I  were  aunt  Sally,  and 
could  make  him  more  comfortable,  you  know." 

The  frank  selfishness  of  this  did  not  disturb  Mrs. 
Paul.  "  I  do  not  want  you  to  make  him  more  com 
fortable,"  she  said,  with  a  short  laugh,  "  but  don't 
ignore  him  while  he  is  your  father's  guest.  Why,  I 
am  driven  to  entertaining  him  myself.  I  am  going 
to  ask  you  all  to  take  tea  here,  —  Alan  and  all.  I 
suppose  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  must  come;  that  is 
the  nuisance  of  the  clergy,  —  you  have  to  invite 
them  ;  and  of  course  you  and  Mr.  Steele.  He  seems 
a  most  amiable  young  man  ?  " 

"Yes,"  Sidney  answered,  with  something  as  near 
carelessness  as  can  come  into  the  voice  of  a  young 
woman  when  speaking  to  her  elders  and  betters. 


SIDNEY.  73 

"And  —  Mortimer  Lee.  Perhaps  he  will  be 
willing  to  do  me  a  favor,  for  once  ?  I  don't  ask  him 
very  often.  It  was  three  years  on  the  18th  of  last 
July  since  he  entered  this  house." 

"But  father  never  goes  anywhere,"  Sidney  ex 
plained. 

When  that  strange  resentment  came  into  Mrs. 
Paul's  voice,  Sidney's  happy  readiness  to  reply  for 
sook  her ;  instead,  there  was  something  like  anger  in 
her  serene  eyes ;  what  right  had  Mrs.  Paul  to  seem 
to  disapprove  of  him  ? 

"Don't  I  know  that?"  cried  the  older  woman. 
"  I  knew  him  long  before  you  were  born,  young  lady ! 
And  he  would  have  been  a  great  deal  happier  man 
to-day,  if  he  had  had  more  sense.  There !  don't  talk 
about  it ;  it  irritates  me  to  talk  about  such  folly,  — 
a  man  like  Mortimer  Lee  to  make  a  hermit  of  him 
self !  Stop,  I  say,  —  don't  talk  about  it!  But  I 
suppose  he  can  do  this,  at  least ;  it  is  n't  asking  very 
much." 

"  I  hope  he  will  come,"  Sidney  said.  "  It  will  be 
so  pleasant  if  he  will  come." 

"  It  will  be  pleasant,  if  you  behave  as  a  well-bred 
young  woman  should,  and  endeavor  to  be  agreeable 
to  my  guest ;  and  also  if  you  wear  a  decent  dress,  as 
befits  your  father's  daughter.  What  have  you  to 

?M 

"  I  have  that  muslin,  with  the  blue  ribbons,"  the 
girl  answered,  doubtfully ;  "  or  I  suppose  aunt  Sally 
might  get  some  new  ones,  —  another  color." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Paul ;  "  you  are  not  a 
miss  in  your  teens;  pray  have  some  sense."  She 


74  SIDNEY. 

stopped,  and  frowned.  "  If  you  had  not  so  much 
wicked,  wilful  pride,  I  would  buy  you  a  proper 
gown.  Sally  does  n't  know  how  to  dress  you.  But 
I  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  Hush !  don't  begin  to 
protest ;  it  is  most  unladylike  to  protest.  I  have 
some  dresses  in  the  garret,  —  old  ones,  child,  old 
ones,  —  and  Scarlett  shall  shape  one  over  for  you. 
I  have  my  reasons  for  wanting  to  see  you  properly 
dressed,  for  once  in  your  life." 

"  Oh,  but,  Mrs.  Paul,"  said  Sidney, "  I  would  rather 
wear  my  muslin." 

44  Well,  I  would  rather  you  did  n't  wear  your  mus 
lin,"'  interposed  the  other,  grimly.  "  Now,  say  no 
more  about  it.  We  will  go  and  look  at  them,  at  least. 
Just  ring  for  Davids ;  we  must  have  candles ;  the 
garret  is  dark  by  this  time." 

44  Had  n't  we  better  wait  for  daylight  ?  "  Sidney 
said,  anxious  to  put  off  the  evil  hour ;  but  Davids 
was  already  listening  to  his  mistress's  orders. 

"  Tell  Scarlett  to  take  up  two  lamps  ;  and  do  you 
light  all  the  bedroom  candles,  and  put  them  on  the 
red  chest  of  drawers,  over  against  the  chimney- 
breast,  so  that  the  light  will  fall  on  the  big  mirror  ; 
and  make  haste,  —  make  haste  !  " 

Davids  was  as  incapable  of  haste  as  Major  Lee 
himself,  but  Scarlett  came  hurrying  in,  a  moment 
later,  to  say  that  the  lamps  were  lighted,  and  to  pre 
cede  her  mistress  to  the  garret,  a  flaring  candle  in  a 
tall  silver  candlestick  in  each  hand.  Davids  gave 
Mrs.  Paul  his  arm,  and  Sidney,  annoyed  but  help 
less,  followed  them  through  the  hall  and  up  the  wide, 
winding  stairs.  The  silence  was  broken  only  by  the 


SIDNEY.  75 

soft  thud  of  Mrs.  Paul's  stick,  or  a  sharp  word  to 
Scarlett  lest  a  drop  of  wax  should  fall  on  the  faded 
Turkey  carpet. 

In  the  garret,  Davids  had  drawn  an  armchair  to 
one  side  of  the  old  cheval-glass,  which,  as  the  can 
dles  gleamed  and  flickered  across  it,  seemed  a  pool 
of  misty  light  among  the  shadows  under  the  rafters. 
On  the  chest  of  drawers,  which  stood  against  the 
great  unplastered  chimney-breast  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  were  two  lamps  with  frosted  globes,  which 
looked  like  moons  glimmering  in  a  mist ;  Scarlett 
had  put  some  candles  there,  also,  and  on  a  shelf 
above  the  mirror  a  candelabrum  dropped  a  wavering 
plummet  of  light  into  its  mysterious  depths.  But 
the  garret  was  quite  dark,  except  for  this  spot  of 
brightness  about  the  three  women.  The  stains  and 
streaks  on  the  yellowing  plaster  of  the  walls  had 
faded  into  the  dusk,  and  one  could  scarcely  see  the 
spider -webs  between  the  rafters,  or  the  strange 
array  of  "  things  "  on  shelves  and  pegs  :  there  were 
three  warming-pans  in  a  row  upon  the  wall,  —  no 
one  knew  how  long  ago  their  brass  had  been  pol 
ished  last ;  at  one  end  of  the  room  old-fashioned 
bonnets  hung,  cavernous  with  shadows,  and  seeming, 
when  the  candles  flickered,  to  nod,  as  though  ghostly 
heads  whispered  and  chattered  together ;  and  hang 
ing  above  the  presses  were  portraits  of  the  forgotten 
dead,  which  no  one  had  the  courage  to  destroy. 

Mrs.  Paul  sank,  a  little  breathlessly,  into  the 
chair  by  the  glass,  as  Davids  left  her  and  noiselessly 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  "  Now  !  "  she  said, 
with  great  satisfaction.  "  Open  the  blue  chest  first, 


76  SIDNEY. 

Scarlett.  I  think  —  I  think  it  is  in  that."  Scarlett, 
on  her  knees  by  the  blue  chest,  lifted  out  the  piles 
of  clothing  within  it.  "  No,  no,  not  that,"  Mrs.  Paul 
commented,  impatiently,  "  not  that ;  have  you  no 
eyes,  Scarlett  ?  That  quilted  satin  petticoat  was  my 
mother's,  Sidney ;  look,  child  !  She  wore  that  when 
she  rode  into  Washington,  on  a  pillion,  behind  my 
grandfather,  to  see  Congress  assemble.  Nor  that ! 
Lord,  Scarlett,  have  you  no  sense  ?  " 

"  The  chest  is  empty,  madam,"  answered  Scarlett. 
It  was  curious  to  see  the  eager  look  on  Mrs.  Paul's 
face,  when  there  was  but  a  dream  in  Sidney's  eyes, 
and  quiet  indifference  in  Scarlett's  voice  and  man 
ner. 

"  Then  look  in  the  big  press,"  Mrs.  Paul  directed. 
"  It  is  the  lavender  brocade,  with  bunches  of  flow 
ers  ;  don't  you  know  ?  " 

When  it  was  found,  and  shaken  from  its  folds  of 
years,  and  she  had  helped  Sidney  put  it  on,  the  ser 
vant  began  to  be  interested.  Mrs.  Paul  leaned  back 
in  her  chair  and  watched  them.  The  yellowing  lace 
ruffles  in  the  sleeves  scarcely  touched  the  girl's  white 
elbows,  and  the  flowered  bodice  would  not  meet 
across  her  young  bosom.  But  the  high-heeled  satin 
slippers  which  Scarlett  produced  fitted  her  quite  per 
fectly,  and  the  full  skirt  was  long  enough,  the  train 
twisting  itself  about  her  ankles  as  she  turned  and 
looked  into  the  clear  darkness  of  the  mirror. 

"  There  is  a  taffeta  scarf  there,"  said  Mrs.  Paul, 
plucking  at  Sidney's  sleeve,  and  then  pushing  aside 
the  lace  in  the  square  neck,  her  wrinkled  hand  seem 
ing  to  lose  its  whiteness  where  it  touched  the  girl's 


SIDNEY.  77 

soft  skin ;  "  just  put  that  over  her  shoulders,  and 
then  lace  the  bodice  across  it  —  Lower,  lower !  Don't 
cover  her  throat.  Don't  you  know  better  than  to 
cover  her  throat  ?  Now,  hold  the  candles  so  that  I 
can  see  her !  " 

Scarlett  moved  the  candles  upon  this  side  and 
upon  that,  the  lights  and  shadows  falling  on  the  dis 
tressed  young  face  and  the  gleaming  folds  of  the  old 
brocade. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  Sidney  said  anxiously,  and  try 
ing  to  draw  a  long  breath,  "  that  the  muslin  would 
be  better ;  this  is  quite  stiff,  Mrs.  Paul,  and  tight,  — 
truly  it  is." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  impatiently.  "  I  went 
to  parties  before  you  were  born  ;  I  know  what  is 
proper  for  a  young  woman  to  wear.  Of  course 
Scarlett  shall  alter  it.  You  don't  think,  Scarlett, 
that  a  band  of  black  velvet  about  her  throat  ?  — 
Jewels  can't  be  thought  of." 

"No,  madam,"  Scarlett  answered,  the  candles 
shining  on  her  little  worn  face  as  she  walked  around 
the  girl.  "  She 's  beautiful  !  It  does  remind  me  of 
other  days,  madam  !  " 

The  two  old  women  had  apparently  forgotten  the 
young  creature,  with  her  protesting  eyes.  "  Make  a 
courtesy,  Sidney  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Paul,  shrilly  ;  "  but 
you  don't  know  how !  There,  take  my  stick,  Scar 
lett  ;  "  and  rising  stiffly,  her  head  held  high,  her  lips 
breaking  into  a  smile,  she  lifted  her  plum-colored 
silk  skirt  daintily  and  sunk  back,  with  the  sweeping 
bend  with  which  long  ago  she  had  greeted  one  lover 
or  another. 


78  SIDNEY. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Scarlett?"  she  said,  falling 
into  her  chair  with  a  sigh  which  was  almost  a  groan. 
"  I  was  as  young  as  you,  Sidney,  when  I  saw  your 
father  first,  —  it  was  before  he  was  married.  It  was 
nothing  to  me,  of  course,  there  were  so  many  young 
men ;  I  don't  know  why  I  should  happen  to  remem 
ber  it.  I  wore  a  yellow  satin  that  night.  You 
could  n't  do  that  with  your  color ;  there  are  few 
women  who  could  stand  it.  Do  you  remember,  Scar 
lett  ?  There  !  the  gown  is  beautiful ;  but  you  must  n't 
let  it  make  you  vain.  Fine  feathers,  you  know. 
Yes,  it  must  be  altered  a  little  ;  women  dress  so  fool 
ishly  nowadays.  Now,  come  downstairs.  I  want 
to  see  you  walk  across  the  drawing-room.  A  woman 
manages  a  train  by  inheritance  ;  if  your  mother  was 
used  —  Well,  come  downstairs,  —  come  down 
stairs.  Scarlett  shall  do  your  hair  the  night  you 
come  to  tea.  Don't  interrupt  me ;  in  my  young 
days,  chits  of  girls  did  n't  interrupt  their  elders." 
There  was  a  strange  excitement  in  Mrs.  Paul's  face. 
"  It  will  be  beautiful,  Scarlett.  What  ?  "  In  some 
dim  way  it  was  not  Sidney  who  stood,  young  and 
flushed,  with  eyes  like  jewels  under  her  shining  hair, 
but  she  herself.  "  And  this  is  the  way  I  held  my 
fan,"  she  said,  opening  the  ivory  sticks  upon  Sid 
ney's  round  arm.  "  There,  swing  it  —  so  !  Can't 
you  look  across  it  and  then  down  again,  at  your 
hands.  Oh,  not  like  a  Sunday-school  child  repeat 
ing  its  verse.  Lord,  Sidney  !  " 

Sidney  laughed.  "  But  it  is  easier  to  look  straight 
at  you,  Mrs.  Paul,"  she  said.  Then  the  little  pro 
cession  moved  across  the  sagging  floor,  and  down 


SIDNEY.  79 

the  stairs  to  the  drawing-room.  Sidney,  still  reluc 
tant,  but  young ;  for  the  soft  colors,  the  shimmering 
folds,  the  cobwebs  of  lace,  were  a  glimpse  into  a  new 
world. 

'.'  You  seem  too  pleased  with  life,  Sidney,"  de 
clared  the  old  woman,  watching  her  with  puzzled  ir 
ritation.  "  I  did  not  look  like  that  when  I  walked 
down  a  drawing-room,  I  can  tell  you.  Oh,  Alan 
Crossan  ?  Here,  what  is  the  matter  with  Sidney  ? 
What  will  keep  her  from  looking  so  —  good  ?  "  She 
laughed  as  she  spoke,  with  a  droll  glance. 

The  doctor  had  entered,  with  an  unheard  an 
nouncement  from  Davids.  u  A  little  further  instruc 
tion  from  Mrs.  Paul,"  he  observed,  critically,  while 
beneath  his  eyes  Sidney  stood  with  a  new,  unpleas 
ant  consciousness  of  being  embarrassed.  "  A  little 
more  attention  to  your  example  cannot  fail  to  re 
move  obtrusive  goodness.  And  yet,  do  you  know,  I 
doubt  if  it  would  be  altogether  an  improvement  ?  " 

Mrs.  Paul  laughed,  her  keen,  dark  eyes  sweeping 
him  from  head  to  foot  with  charming  insolence. 
"  You  are  impossible  !  "  she  said.  "  Sidney,  you 
can  go  upstairs,  now.  She  does  n't  get  her  timidity 
from  Mortimer  Lee,  I  can  tell  you,"  she  went  on. 
"  I  suppose  it  is  Gertrude  Randolph  over  again. 
And  yet,  there  is  a  certain  way  in  which  she  can 
carry  her  head  that  promises  hard  things  for  young 
Steele." 

"  Steele  ?  "  questioned  the  doctor,  frowning. 

"  Yes,  my  friend,"  cried  Mrs.  Paul,  "  and  I  am 
doing  my  part,  I  can  tell  you.  I  have  opened  that 
Sally's  eyes,  and  —  well,  we  shall  see.  That  is,  if 


80  SIDNEY. 

the  young  man  is  not  a  fool,  —  though  they  gener 
ally  are.     How  is  he,  your  Steele  ?  " 

"  Better,"  returned  Alan,  cheerfully.  "  I  left  him 
just  a  moment  ago  talking  to  dear  Miss  Sally,  by 
the  library  fire.  They  said  Sidney  was  here,  and 
I  came  to  bring  her  home  to  tea." 


VI. 


MRS.  PAUL'S  unusual  softness  as  she  talked  to 
Sidney  that  afternoon,  had  its  natural  reaction  when 
she  played  at  draughts  with  John  Paul  in  the  even 
ing. 

"  He 's  that  badged,"  said  Davids,  when  he  left 
the  mother  and  son  at  the  tea-table,  arid  came  out 
into  the  serenity  of  Scarlett's  shining  kitchen,  "  that 
it  does  seem  like  as  if  he  must  jaw  back.  But  he 
ain't  said  a  word,  except  to  tell  me  to  fetch  him 
some  more  curried  roe.  Well,  thank  the  Lord, 
he  can  eat."  Scarlett's  invariable  response  of  si 
lence  filled  the  man  with  such  wrath  that  he  almost 
forgot  his  sympathy  with  his  master.  "  A  woman  'd 
better  have  a  tongue,"  he  said,  "  even  if  she  can't 
use  it  no  better  than  she  does  !  " 

But  John  Paul  found  so  much  comfort  in  his 
curry,  and  in  studying  out  a  phase  of  the  fishery 
question  which  it  perhaps  suggested,  that  Davids' 
sympathy  was  really  unnecessary ;  John  did  not 
even  remember  his  mother's  anger  over  night. 
There  was  nothing  to  remind  him  of  it,  for  he  never 
saw  Mrs.  Paul  in  the  morning ;  only  Scarlett,  and 
sometimes  Miss  Sally,  were  admitted  to  her  bed 
room  while  she  breakfasted. 

He  took  less  time  than  usual  that  day  over  his 
coffee  and  paper,  although  breakfast  was  a  most 


82  SIDNEY. 

important  affair  to  John  Paul ;  for  he  was  in  haste 
to  jot  down  those  ideas  about  the  fishery  trouble,  so 
that  later  in  the  day  he  might  go  and  talk  them 
over  with  Katherine  Townsend.  Indeed,  such  was 
his  interest  in  his  bit  of  work,  and  his  impatience  to 
have,  he  said  to  himself,  the  benefit  of  Miss  Town- 
send's  clear  criticism,  that  he  started  out  over  the 
old  bridge  quite  early  in  the  afternoon. 

Little  Eliza,  staring  from  the  toll-house  window, 
answered  his  cheery  nod  with  a  flickering  color  in 
her  round  cheeks.  "  Had  your  music  lesson,  Miss 
Eliza?"  he  called  out,  and  waited  good-naturedly  in 
the  wind  while  she  ran  to  open  the  door  that  she 
might  answer  him. 

"  Pretty  cold,  is  n't  it  ?  "  he  asked,  beating  his 
hands  together,  and  looking  back  across  the  bridge. 
u  Seen  Miss  Towusend  come  out  from  town  yet?  " 

u  No,  sir,  not  yet,"  responded  Eliza ;  "  she  comes 
late  to-day,  Miss  Townsend  does.  Thursdays  she 
doesn't  pass  the  toll-house  before  half  past  four, 
sir." 

"  Pshaw !  what  did  I  start  so  early  for  ? "  he 
thought.  He  was  uncertain  what  to  do.  He  might 
go  on,  and  wait  for  her  in  the  parlor  of  the  house  in 
lied  Lane;  but  though  Ted  was  a  first-rate  little 
boy,  and  the  brother  of  his  sister,  talk  of  pups  did 
sometimes  pall.  "  What  time  is  it  now  ?  "  he  asked, 
bending  his  head  so  that  he  could  look  through  the 
low  doorway  and  see  the  fat  Dutch  clock  ticking 
above  the  dresser.  "  Twenty  minutes  to  four !  I 
wonder  if  you  'd  let  me  wait  in  your  pleasant  sit 
ting-room,  Miss  Eliza?  I  —  I'm  a  little  early  for 
a  call  I  wanted  to  make,  and,  —  " 


SIDNEY.  83 

"  Oli !  "  cried  Eliza,  after  a  speechless  moment  of 
delight. 

So  Mr.  John  Paul  entered,  and  from  the  kitchen 
pantry  what  did  Mrs.  Jennings  hear,  "just  as  socia 
ble  and  friendly  like,  but,  '  Won't  you  take  off  your 
coat,  Mr.  Paul?'" 

"  It  gave  me  such  a  turn,"  Mrs.  Jennings  con 
fessed  afterwards,  as  she  and  Eliza  talked  it  all  over, 
"  that  I  was  like  to. sit, right  down  on  the  floor.  And 
wasn't  I  thankful  thaU""1!  put  them  cakes  in  the 
oven !  "  For  they  had  cakes  and  tea,  in  the  little 
sitting-room  with  the  antimacassars  on  the  chairs 
and  the  geraniums  in  the  windows ;  and  it  was  all, 
Mrs.  Jennings  declared,  just  as  genteel  and  cozy  as 
could  be.  Of  course,  after  she  brought  in  the  little 
hot  brown  cakes,  the  mistress  of  the  toll-house,  in  a 
discreet  and  proper  way,  retired  to  the  pantry, 
where,  with  overflowing  eyes  and  palpitating  bosom, 
she  could  hear  the  whole  conversation. 

What  that  half  hour  was  to  Eliza  and  her  mother 
John  Paul  never  knew.  "  Thank  God,  you  was  at 
home,  'Liza,"  Mrs.  Jennings  reuiarked  more  than 
once ;  and  then  she  excused  the  warmth  of  her 
words  by  saying  that  most  people  would  say  Provi 
dence,  she  supposed,  but,  for  her  part,  she  only  said 
Providence  when  things  did  n't  go  right;  and  she 
wanted  to  find  fault.  "  And  you  can't  find  fault  — 
the  other  way  !  "  said  Mrs.  Jennings,  piously. 

"When  it  was  time  to  go,  John  Paul,  in  the  good 
ness  of  his  heart,  said  many  pleasant  things  of  the 
gay  little  room,  and  complimented  the  cakes  and  the 
geraniums,  and  even  the  hens  in  the  yard.  Mrs. 


84  SIDNEY. 

Jennings  was  so  thrilled  by  his  condescension,  and 
so  tearful  with  admiration  of  her  daughter's  "  pretty 
manners,"  that  she  began  to  make  plans  for  his  next 
visit.  "  For  he  '11  come,"  she  said,  nodding  and 
winking,  as  she  and  her  daughter  sat  that  night  by 
the  little  air-tight  stove,  which  smiled  redly  through 
its  square  mica  eyes,  and  filled  the  room  with  a 
cheery  glow. 

"  Law,  ma !  " 

"  Yes,"  continued  Mrs.  Jennings,  —  it  was  her 
habit,  before  going  to  bed,  to  sit  thus  by  the  stove, 
in  a  wadded  short  gown,  with  carpet  slippers  on  her 
ponderous  feet  and  a  cup  of  tea  in  one  hand,  — 
"  yes,  he  enjoyed  it,  —  he  said  he  did.  So  he  '11 
come  again  ;  you  mark  my  words." 

"  Did  he  say  he  enjoyed  it  ?  "  Eliza  murmured, 
meditatively,  although  she  had  herself  repeated  to 
her  mother  those  very  words  when  the  door  had 
closed  behind  John  Paul ;  but  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
hear  them  again. 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  declared  Mrs.  Jennings.  "  '  Thank 
you  for  letting  me  come  in,'  he  says.  '  It 's  been  very 
pleasant  to  wait  here,'  he  says.  4 1  've  enjoyed  it 
very  much.'  What  do  you  call  that,  'Liza  ?  " 

"  And  then  he  said  that  about  the  cakes,"  added 
Eliza,  dreamily. 

"Yes,  then  he  said  that  about  the  cakes,"  her 
mother  assented,  with  great  satisfaction.  "  You  'd 
ought  to  have  asked  him  to  come  again  and  have 
some  more  ;  still,  it 's  best  to  be  sought,  I  will  say !  " 

"Oh,  ma!" 

"  And  then  you  talked  all  that  about  your  music 


SIDNEY.  85 

lessons.  Well,  now,  it  does  seem  to  me  I  would  n't 
V  kept  on  like  you  did  about  Miss  Townsend  ?  " 

"  But  he  was  asking  about  my  lessons,"  Eliza  ex 
plained. 

"  Yes,  but  you  need  n't  'a'  gone  on  praisin'  her," 
said  Mrs.  Jennings,  in  a  discontented  voice. 
"  There  !  I  do  get  out  of  all  patience  with  her ; 
and  yet  when  she  's  here,  I  don't  know  why  it  is, 
but  I  never  seem  to  know  just  what  to  say.  Well, 
never  mind  her.  Only,  next  time  he  comes,  do  let  on 
that  you  've  something  else  to  talk  about  than  her." 
She  twirled  her  teacup  round,  and  then  looked 
searchingly  at  the  grounds.  "  There  's  a  man  there," 
she  said,  pointing  with  her  stubby  forefinger  at  the 
bottom  of  the  cup ;  "  he  's  a  visitor !  See  those 
grounds ! " 

Eliza  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  believe  he  '11 
ever  come  again,"  she  said,  with  mournful  common 
sense. 

But  Mrs.  Jennings  pressed  her  lips  together  in  a 
mysterious  way.  "  I  understand  such  things,  'Liza. 
I  know  a  man  don't  say  to  a  young  lady,  4  Thank 
you  for  letting  me  stay,'  —  letting  me,  says  he,  — 
without  some  meaning  in  it.  Would  Job  Todd  say 
it,  d'  ye  think  ?  I  guess  not !  " 

In  spite  of  her  good  sense,  Eliza's  spirits  rose,  or 
at  least  she  allowed  herself  to  enter  into  the  enjoy 
ment  of  her  delusion.  She  blushed  and  smiled  in 
the  firelight,  until  Mrs.  Jennings  shed  tears  of  hap 
piness  at  her  darling's  happiness. 

"  Oh,  ma,"  the  little  milliner  said,  rising  with  a 
happy  sigh,  and  standing  a  moment  before  the  glass, 
—  "  oh,  ma,  if  I  just  was  n't  freckled  !  " 


86  SIDNEY. 

But  Mrs.  Jennings  pushed  back  the  soft  hair  from 
her  daughter's  forehead  with  a  loving  hand.  "  Theie, 
now,  deary,  don't  tliink  of  that.  My  !  if  your  skin 
was  n't  just  so  soft  and  fair,  you  would  n't  freckle. 
Freckles  is  a  sign  of  beautiful  complexion  under 
'em." 

This  was  so  comforting,  Eliza  smiled  again.  John 
Paul  little  knew  what  a  commotion  and  joy  his  visit 
had  caused  ;  had  he  known,  possibly  he  might  not 
have  trespassed  upon  Mrs.  Jennings'  hospitality 
again,  even  to  the  extent  of  coming  in  to  buy  a 
bunch  of  geraniums  for  Miss  Townsend,  later  in  the 
winter. 

On  this  especial  afternoon,  however,  he  only  knew 
that  it  had  been  a  pleasure  to  listen  to  Eliza's  rap 
tures  about  her  teacher.  ("  She  's  just  splendid  !  " 
Eliza  had  said,  and  sighed  for  want  of  better  words.) 
Indeed,  the  expression  was  so  much  in  his  mind  that 
he  found  himself  smiling  as  he  joined  Miss  Kather- 
ine  Townsend  and  asked  her  to  let  him  go  as  far  as 
Red  Lane  with  her.  He  had  the  most  casual  way  in 
the  world  of  asking  such  favors ;  it  was  almost  irri 
tating,  unless  one  happened  to  know  that  it  was  his 
method  of  disguising  his  shyness. 

"  You  have  a  most  ardent  admirer  in  your  toll 
house  pupil,"  he  declared.  "I  —  ah  —  stopped 
there  a  moment." 

Katheriiie's  smile  was  like  sudden  sunshine  ;  she 
knew  quite  well  why  Mr.  John  Paul  had  stopped  at 
the  toll-house.  "  She  is  a  good  little  thing,"  she  said, 
"  and  her  mother  is  delightful.  Mrs.  Jennings  told 
me,  when  she  engaged  me,"  —  John  winced,  — 


SIDNEY.  87 

"  that  she  was  always  glad  4  to  give  the  benefit  to 
people  that  was  real  poor  and  had  to  work  hard.'  " 

"  Confound  her  !  "  grumbled  John  Paul,  "  do  you 
call  that  delightful?" 

44  Charming  !  "  returned  Katherine,  gayly.  "  I 
told  her  that  I  was  very  much  obliged  to  her,  and 
she  said  in  the  most  comfortable  way,  4  Well,  never 
you  mind  ;  may  be  you  '11  get  settled  down  one  of 
these  days  !  '  She  had  the  respectable  mechanic  in 
her  mind's  eye,  I  'm  sure." 

She  laughed  as  she  spoke.  One  could  easily  be 
lieve,  however,  that  Mrs.  Jennings  would  have  hesi 
tated  at  that  final  suggestion.  There  was  a  look 
in  this  young  woman's  face  which  puzzled  and  irri 
tated  the  mistress  of  the  toll-house,  in  spite  of  her 
knowledge  that  the  Townsends  had  as  little  money 
as  she  had.  That  slight  immobility  of  the  upper  lip, 
which  gives  piquancy  as  well  as  a  hint  of  hardness  to 
the  whole  face,  or,  it  were  more  exact  to  say,  a  prom 
ise  of  justice  without  sentiment,  gave  also  a  look  of 
pride  which  the  carriage  of  her  head  accentuated. 
As  Mrs.  Jennings  had  confessed  to  her  daughter, 
she  never  knew  just  what  to  say  to  Miss  Townsend  ; 
so  naturally  enough  she  disliked  her. 

They  had  almost  reached  Red  Lane  when  John 
stopped.  "  Are  you  very  tired  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Could 
you  walk  a  little  further  out  into  the  country  ?  That 
grove  of  birches  on  the  Perryville  Plank  Road  must 
be  marvelous." 

There  had  been  a  storm  of  sleet  in  the  morning, 
which,  as  the  cold  deepened,  had  frozen  on  the  trees, 
and  now  in  the  late  afternoon,  when  the  gray  clouds 


88  SIDNEY. 

lifted  in  the  west,  and  a  flood  of  ruddy  gold  poured 
over  the  white  landscape,  the  icy  branches  blazed 
with  all  the  jewels  of  Aladdin.  The  pools  of  ice  by 
the  roadside  caught  a  sudden  red,  and  the  fringe  of 
windy  clouds  in  the  east  quivered  with  rosy  light. 
The  birch  grove  would  be  beautiful,  John  thought ; 
its  trees  were  so  slight  that  they  would  bend  like 
wonderful  feathers  under  the  weight  of  ice,  and  in 
this  glow  of  gold  gleam  and  glitter  as  though  pow 
dered  with  the  dust  of  a  thousand  diamonds. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  how  many  men, 
in  offering  themselves  to  the  women  they  love,  use 
the  subtile,  or  passionate,  or  tender  sentences  with 
which  they  have  beguiled  their  imagination  for  many 
a  day.  Instead,  the  flutter  of  an  eyelid,  a  broken 
word,  or  a  beautiful  silence  may  tell  all ! 

John  Paul  had  composed  the  story  of  his  love  in 
his  own  mind  a  dozen  times  in  the  last  month,  only 
to  sigh  as  he  ended  it  and  say  that  he  was  a  fool; 
she  would  never  look  at  him,  except  with  that  con 
tempt  in  her  kind  gray  eyes  which  he  could  not 
understand.  Nevertheless,  he  knew  precisely  at 
what  point  he  meant  to  take  her  hand  and  tell  her 
that  he  had  loved  her  ever  since  he  had  known  her 
—  and  —  and  would  she  let  him  take  care  of  her 
now,  and  of  Ted  and  the  girls  ;  and  that  no  man 
had  ever  loved  a  woman  as  he  loved  her ;  and  all  the 
other  statements  usually  made  upon  such  occasions. 

Who  then  could  have  been  more  astonished  than 
John  Paul  to  hear  himself  say,  as  they  walked  along 
the  road,  which  was  bordered  witli  wild  blackberry 
bushes,  bending  into  a  glistening  network  of  ice, 


SIDNEY.  89 

"  The  respectable  mechanic  —  must  he  be  a  me 
chanic?  " 

Katherine  Townsend  flashed  a  quick  look  into  his 
face,  but  how  could  he  see  that,  with  the  sun  shining 
straight  into  his  near-sighted  eyes  ? 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  lightly,  "  I  am  inclined  to  think 
he  must  be.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Paul,  I  have 
come  of  late  to  feel  an  immense  amount  of  respect 
for  him,  —  I  speak  generically,  my  acquantaince 
with  him  being,  unfortunately,  limited  to  the  piano 
tuner  at  the  other  end  of  Red  Lane,  and  Mr.  Job 
Todd,  who  built  the  kennel  for  the  puppies." 

"  But,  Katherine,  I  —  I  meant  "  —  John  began  to 
say,  his  voice  quite  hoarse,  and  in  his  agitation  strik 
ing  at  a  frozen  mullein  stalk  with  his  cane  ;  but  she 
interrupted  him,  with  a  ring  in  her  voice  which  made 
him  stumble  with  astonishment. 

"  You  see,  they  amount  to  something  in  the  world, 
these  simple,  hard-working  men.  Oh,  since  I  have 
had  to  teach,  since  I  have  really  seen  what  living  is 
to  most  men  and  women,  since  I  have  understood 
ihe  meanness  of  luxury,  I  have  burned  with  con 
tempt  for  my  old,  lazy,  easy  life,  —  the  time  when  I 
did  nothing  for  myself,  and  just  let  people  wait  upon 
me  and  take  care  of  me." 

John  Paul's  face  stung ;  there  was  something  in 
her  voice  which  said  that  these  words  about  herself 
were  for  him.  A  woman,  plodding  through  the 
snow,  looked  towards  them  with  that  dull  curiosity 
with  which  wayfarers  regard  one  another,  and  John 
wondered  if  his  face  betrayed  the  ache  in  his  heart. 
"  You  are  severe,"  he  said. 


90  SIDNEY. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  she  answered ;  and  then  a  mo 
ment  later,  "  The  iron  has  entered  into  my  soul,  Mr. 
Paul.  The  unevenness  of  life  has  seemed  too  horrible 
to  bear.  I  think  —  I  hope  that  if  I  were  suddenly 
to  have  plenty  of  money  again  I  should  keep  on 
doing  something  to  earn  it,  and  not  be  lazy,  and  in 
different,  and  satisfied  with  a  small,  ignoble,  com 
fortable  life.  Oh,  I  feel  this  so  about  Ted.  If  I  can 
but  teach  him  to  be  a  man  ;  to  feel  the  shame,  the 
disgrace,  of  dependence,  either  upon  one  person  — 
me,  for  instance  —  or  upon  one  class  in  the  commu 
nity.  He  must  earn  his  own  bread,  and  not  take 
one  crumb  or  one  cent  more  than  he  gives,  somehow ; 
—  I  don't  care  how  ;  by  his  brains  or  his  hands  ; 
only  he  must  be  independent.  I  try  to  make  him 
feel  it  now,  although  he  is  just  a  little  boy."  She 
stopped,  and  put  her  hand  up  to  her  eyes  a  moment. 
"  There  is  such  a  glare  on  the  snow,"  she  explained, 
in  an  unsteady  voice. 

"  Miss  Townsend,"  John  said,  "  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  are  hardly  fair  to  the  man  whom  the  acci 
dent  of  birth  places  in  a  position  where  work  is  not 
necessary  "  —  But  she  interrupted  him. 

"  Birth  never  places  us  where  we  should  not  work  ; 
our  own  weakness  or  cowardice  may  let  us  take  ad 
vantage  of  circumstances  that  we  have  nothing  to 
do  with.  Oh,  I  despise  such  men,  men  who  are  sat 
isfied  with  small,  useless  lives,  and  take  what  they 
do  not  earn." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  socialist,"  John  answered, 
but  his  face  was  white. 

Katherine  shook  her  head.  "  I  am  a  Christian,  — 
that  is  all." 


SIDNEY.  91 

"  You  are  not  fair ! "  he  burst  out.  "  For  instance, 
I  —  my  mother  "  — 

"  Yes  ?  Well  ?  "  she  said,  for  he  had  paused  ;  to 
defend  himself  made  all  her  scorn  personal,  and 
killed  his  hope. 

"  You  know  my  position,"  with  an  impulsive  ges 
ture.  "  It  was  my  duty  to  go  into  the  warehouse, 
no  matter  how  much  I  hated  it.  I  don't  work,  I 
know,  though  I  should  have  liked  to ;  but  why 
should  I  have  consulted  my  own  wishes  (I  had  n't 
the  motive  then  that  I  have  now),  why  should  I  have 
made  her  miserable  ?  " 

"  Why  disturb  your  own  comfort  ?  Is  n't  that 
what  you  really  mean  ?  "  Katherine  said,  with  bitter 
lightness.  "  But  perhaps  I  don't  call  things  by  the 
names  that  you  do." 

"  What  do  you  call  it,  Miss  Townsend  ?  "  John 
asked,  quietly. 

"  I  don't  think  my  opinion  is  of  any  consequence," 
she  said,  but  she  bit  her  lip  to  keep  it  firm. 

"  It  is  everything  in  the  world  to  me,  Katherine." 

Her  contempt  scorched  his  face,  but  somehow  there 
was  a  strange  comfort  in  it,  which  he  did  not  stop  to 
analyze. 

"  Please  do  not  call  me  Katherine,  Mr.  Paul,"  she 
commanded,  with  an  attempt  at  gayety,  "  even  to 
show  that  you  are  friendly  in  spite  of  my  candor. 
I  —  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  should  call  such  an  atti 
tude  as  yours  toward  your  mother,  selfish  and  — 
cowardly." 

John  started  as  though  he  had  been  struck  in  the 
face ;  to  be  sure,  that  talk  about  Ted  and  herself 


92  SIDNEY. 

had  meant  it,  but  to  put  it  into  words !  They  had 
reached  the  grove  of  birches,  and  stood  looking  mis 
erably  at  the  sparkling  trees.  The  wet  folds  of  the 
clouds  had  quenched  the  sunset  light,  and  a  low 
wind,  blowing  up  from  the  river  and  wandering 
across  the  hills,  made  the  mail-clad  branches  creak 
and  rattle. 

"  It  is  beautiful ;  "  Katherine  said,  vaguely,  look 
ing  into  the  glittering  mist  of  the  woods  with  un 
seeing  eyes. 

"  Very,"  John  answered,  with  his  back  to  the 
trees ;  "  I  am  astounded  by  your  use  of  words,  Miss 
Townsend." 

"  Why  should  you  be  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Look,  cow 
ardly  :  how  many  times  have  you  told  me  that  you 
have  kept  silent  rather  than  have  a  discussion !  " 

"  Never  when  there  was  a  principle  involved,"  he 
interposed,  doggedly. 

"  There  is  always  a  principle  in  everything,"  she 
declared.  "  More  than  that,  deeper  than  that,  you 
have  preferred  the  ignoble  comfort  of  your  life  to 
working  hard  and  honestly  at  anything."  John  saw 
the  sheen  of  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  And  selfish  ?  Can 
you  for  one  instant  claim  that  this  effacement  of 
yourself  has  been  for  any  one's  peace  and  comfort  but 
your  own?  Have  you  ever,  by  one  single  protest, 
helped  your  mother  ?  Forgive  me  for  speaking  of 
her,  but  you  asked  me,  and  I  have  to  be  honest. 
You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  there  is  a  point  in  the 
relation  of  parent  and  child  where  the  parent  grows 
no  older,  apparently,  but  the  child  ceases  to  be  young, 
and  at  that  point  there  has  to  be  an  adjustment  of 


SIDNEY.  93 

ideas  which  is  not  agreeable.  But  what  are  you  to 
call  the  child  who  will  not  assert  his  individuality 
because  it  would  be  unpleasant  to  do  so  ?  Indeed, 
I  don't  know  any  other  word  than  selfish.  Oh,  it 
seems  to  me  that  so  many,  many  wrong  things  are 
done  under  the  name  of  self-sacrifice  !  " 

John  did  not  speak.  The  branches  of  a  tree 
creaked  shrilly ;  some  oak  leaves,  stiff  with  a  glaze 
of  sleet,  rustled,  and  bits  of  ice  fell  sharp  upon  the 
frozen  snow. 

"  If  I  can  only  keep  Ted  from  such  twisted  moral 
ity  ! "  she  ended. 

John  said  something  between  his  teeth.  "  I  wish 
you  would  be  so  good  as  to  drop  Ted  ;  you  mean  all 
this  for  me,  of  course.  But  you  are  cold.  I  ought 
not  to  have  kept  you  standing  here.  Let  us  go 
back." 

They  turned,  and  began  to  walk  silently  towards 
Eed  Lane.  Katherine  could  not  talk ;  she  had 
spoken  out  of  a  full,  hot  heart,  but  she  knew  very 
well  what  the  reaction  would  be.  She  saw  herself 
beaten  with  self-reproach  and  helpless  regret.  They 
had  almost  reached  Eed  Lane,  when  John  said 
gently :  — 

"  I  want  you  to  believe  that  I  value  your  sincerity. 
It  has  hurt  you  to  say  all  this." 

"Not  at  all,"  Katherine  answered,  holding  her 
head  high ;  "  the  truth  is  never  hard.  I  have  felt 
that  we  were  friends,  and  "  — 

"  And  it  is  only  right  that  I  should  know  what 
you  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Katherine. 


VII. 

ALAN  CROSSAN,  as  Miss  Sally  said,  was  really 
devoted  to  his  friend.  There  had  been  scarcely  a 
day  since  Robert  had  come  to  the  major's  that  the 
doctor  had  not  called  to  see  him.  "  And  it 's  so  nice 
for  Sidney  and  me,"  Miss  Sally  asserted,  in  one  of 
her  long,  pleasant  talks  with  Mr.  Steele.  "  To 
think,  now,  that  he  should  have  taught  her  to  carve 
so  beautifully!  But  then  Sidney  could  be  taught 
anything.  I  've  always  said  that." 

They  were  in  the  long  parlor,  which  was  only  a 
little  more  dreary  than  usual,  with  the  gray  rain 
sweeping  in  against  the  front  windows  under  the 
dark  roof  of  the  porch,  and  spattering  down  the 
chimney  once  in  a  while  upon  the  fire.  Except  Miss 
Sally  Lee's  kind  face,  the  soft-coal  fire  was  the  only 
cheerful  thing  in  the  room  ;  it  burned  with  a  dancing 
whirl  of  flames  in  an  old-fashioned  grate,  which  had 
two  brass  balls  on  its  hobs,  and  an  iron  back  wrought 
into  the  flaring  rays  of  a  broad-faced  sun.  On  the 
high  black  mantelpiece  stood  an  ormolu  clock,  with 
a  dome-like  glass  shade  to  protect  the  figures  of 
Iphigenia  and  Diana ;  it  had  not  moved  a  gilt  hand 
across  its  fretted  face  for  years.  Robert  Steele 
watched  it  now  vaguely,  listening  to  the  rain  and  to 
Miss  Sally's  chatter.  He  was  thinking  of  her  rather 
than  of  what  she  said.  She  was  so  upon  the  out- 


SIDNEY.  95 

side  of  \vhat  was  greatest  to  her,  so  ignored  and  un 
noticed,  and  yet  so  true  and  good,  that  she  stirred 
his  pity  and  then  his  tenderness.  When  to  tender 
ness  he  added  gratitude,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the 
quiet  little  spinster  was  transformed  in  his  eyes. 
"  Yes,  '  a  noble  woman,  nobly  planned,'  "  he  thought. 
Yet  he  did  not  finish  the  quotation ;  he  could  not, 
despite  his  convictions,  looking  at  the  simple,  gentle 
face,  matter  of  fact  and  incapable  of  subtlety,  with 
mild  eyes  under  sleek  brown  hair,  which  she  wore 
in  old-fashioned  bands  over  her  ears.  But  though 
she  might  not  warn  or  command,  at  least  she  com 
forted  him,  because,  he  said  to  himself,  she  believed 
in  him ;  he  did  not  reflect  that  she  believed  in  every 
one,  even  in  Miss  Sidney  Lee,  whose  neglect  of  her 
aunt  filled  him  with  indignation.  Nor  did  he  realize 
that  to  be  one's  self  neglected  will  sometimes  bias 
the  judgment.  With  this  thought  of  Sidney,  he 
glanced,  reluctantly,  towards  the  portrait  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room  :  here  was  the  same  insolent 
sweetness,  the  same  serene  selfishness,  the  same  charm 
which  stung  him  into  anger  and,  he  said,  dislike. 
Yet  he  still  looked  at  the  painting,  with  something 
beneath  his  anger,  which  he  called  content.  It  was 
so  much  better  to  be  with  Miss  Sally,  he  thought, 
than  to  see  that  look  in  the  face  of  Miss  Sidney 
Lee. 

"  You  are  so  much  better,"  he  heard  Miss  Sally 
saying;  "and  when  you  are  well,  just  think  what 
good  things  you  will  do  with  that  money."  Robert 
had  made  some  dreary  comment  upon  his  money,  and 
it  was  thus  Miss  Sally  received  it,  following  out  a 


96  SIDNEY. 

suggestion  she  had  made  some  time  before,  but  which 
she  had  taught  Robert  to  feel  was  his  own. 

"  If  the  thirty  pieces  had  come  back  to  Judas/'  he 
answered,  "  do  you  think  that  the  establishment  of  a 
lazaretto  would  have  washed  them  clean  ?  " 

"  But  it  is  not  the  same  kind  of  thing,"  said  Miss 
Sally,  with  a  little  awe  at  the  allusion,  but  much 
good  sense ;  "  and  it 's  time  for  you  to  have  your 
beef-tea,  anyhow." 

"  I  think,"  returned  Robert,  smiling  at  her  with 
wistful  eyes,  "  that  your  good  opinion  is  better  for 
me  than  beef  tea." 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  she  said,  with  a  gleam  of  fun  (it 
was  wonderful  how,  under  kindly  influences,  she  was 
developing  a  harmless  gayety  which  had  never  been 
called  out  when  it  might  have  better  matched  her 
years),  —  "I  'm  afraid  that  you  could  n't  live  up  to 
the  good  opinion  without  the  beef  tea."  She  nodded 
and  smiled  with  a  small  assumption  of  authority, 
and  then  went  to  fetch  it,  coming  back  presently  with 
a  tray  on  which  was  a  frail  blue  bowl  of  soup  and  a 
glass  of  sherry. 

"  How  are  you  so  wise  in  caring  for  people,  Miss 
Sally  ?  "  Robert  asked,  watching  her  spread  a  little 
table  at  his  side.  "  You  know  just  what  to  do  for 
everybody." 

"  Well,  I  am  an  old  woman,  you  know,"  she 
answered  brightly.  But  it  was  strange  how  young 
she  looked  with  the  glow  of  the  fire  on  her  face, 
although  there  were  some  threads  of  gray  in  the 
knot  of  ringlets  at  the  back  of  her  head. 

"  You  are  not  old,"  Robert  protested  loyally ;  but 


SIDNEY.  97 

nevertheless  he  was  astonished  when  she  said  she 
was  but  thirty-nine.  "  You  are  so  wise,"  he  ex 
plained,  with  the  simple  candor  which  Miss  Sally 
had  been  quick  to  appreciate,  "  so  wise  and  kind, 
that  I  had  thought  you  were  more  than  thirty-nine. 
I  am  thirty-five,  you  know,  and  you  are  so  much 
wiser  than  I  am." 

Miss  Sally  blushed.  "  Oh,  but  indeed  I  am  not 
at  all  clever.  When  I  think  how  much  Mortimer 
knows,  and  Sidney,  I  feel  as  if  I  really  belonged  in 
the  kitchen  with  Susan.  But  you  ?  "  she  added,  with 
sudden  constraint,  —  "  why,  I  thought  you  were  only 
Alan's  age." 

It  was  curious  what  an  instant  change  of  atmos 
phere  this  mutual  knowledge  caused.  Miss  Sally 
began  to  wonder  if  she  had  been  quite  polite  in 
telling  a  man  as  old  as  Mr.  Steele  what  he  ought  or 
ought  not  to  do.  She  began  to  feel  a  little  awe  of 
him.  Perhaps  he  had  thought  her  forward  ?  Robert, 
too,  was  aware  of  a  subtle  difference.  He  became 
more  assertive ;  sympathy  and  confidence  meant 
more  from  a  woman  so  nearly  his  own  age  than  from 
one  as  much  his  senior  as  he  had  supposed  Miss 
Sally  to  be.  A  friendship  which  holds  within  it  the 
possibility  of  something  warmer  than  friendship  is 
always  attractive,  whether  the  possibility  is  recognized 
or  not.  Robert,  hearing  at  that  moment  Sidney's 
voice  in  the  hall,  said  to  himself  that  while  he  was 
honored  with  Miss  Sally's  regard  it  made  no  differ 
ence  whether  Miss  Sidney  Lee  ignored  him  or  not. 
But  he  felt  suddenly  old  and  tired,  as  the  room  dark 
ened  with  a  dash  of  rain  against  the  windows,  and 
Sidney  and  Alan  entered. 


98  SIDNEY. 

As  he  looked  up  at  them  a  surprising  thought  first 
presented  itself  to  him.  Perhaps  it  sprung  from 
Sidney's  careless  glance ;  but  he  did  not  stop  to 
analyze  it.  His  mind  went  back  to  the  dull  rooms 
in  town,  the  empty  days,  the  weight  of  undesired 
wealth,  and  —  being  so  far  recovered  —  the  remem 
brance  with  a  thrill  of  fear  of  the  old  bondage ;  but 
with  that  remembrance  came  the  thought  of  Miss 
Sally's  belief  in  him  ;  and  then  —  the  possibility  ! 

"  Steele,"  Alan's  voice  broke  in,  —  Miss  Sally 
had  slipped  away,  "  to  look  after  somebody's  com 
fort,"  Robert  was  sure,  —  "  Steele,  I  have  been  tell 
ing  Sidney  about  your  charming  cousin,  Miss  Town- 
send.  I  can't  persuade  her  to  go  and  see  her.  She 
would  teach  you  lots  of  things,  Sidney ;  even  to 
read  novels,  perhaps.  Bob,  did  you  know  Miss 
Sidney  Lee  scorned  novels  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  the  girl ;  "  only  I  do  not  read 
them,  Alan.  Is  n't  it  a  little  waste  of  time  to  read 
novels  ?  And  Miss  Townsend  —  as  she  is  a  teacher, 
I  suppose  she  is  positive,  and  "  — 

"  And  what,  pray,  are  you  ?  "  cried  Alan.  "  No, 
really,  she  is  delightful.  I  called  on  her  last  night, 
which  is  more  than  you  've  done  for  a  month,  Bob. 
School-ma'am  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Simply  a  charm 
ing  woman,  though  worldly  and  decidedly  practical." 

Sidney  smiled  with  serious  eyes.  To  hear  him 
talk  in  this  way  gave  her  a  curious  feeling  of  being 
left  out ;  she  did  not  understand  it.  She  did  not 
answer  him,  but  waited  for  him  to  go  on,  with  that 
peculiar  and  silent  graciousness  which  stirred  Alan's 
heart  as  an  unseen  and  noiseless  wind  blows  red 
coals  into  a  flame. 


SIDNEY.  99 

"  She  brought  up  a  question  which  interested  me," 
Alan  proceeded.  "  I  don't  know  whether  to  call  it 
ethics  or  taste.  Bob,  listen.  You  look  half  asleep. 
She  had  come  across  a  sketch,  or  story,  or  some 
thing,  —  she  said  it  was  true,  —  about  a  man  and 
his  wife  who  came  over  in  a  steamer ;  I  think  it  was 
that  one  which  went  down  on  the  Newfoundland 
coast.  Well,  the  man,  it  seems,  was  the  sole  sup 
port  not  only  of  his  wife,  but  of  his  mother  and  his 
sisters.  When  the  steamer  began  to  sink,  it  was 
found  that  only  a  few  could  be  saved  ;  so  of  course 
the  women  were  to  go  first.  But  this  fellow's  wife 
wouldn't  move.  'No,'  she  said.  4  You 've  got  to 
be  saved  because  of  your  mother  and  sisters.'  And 
the  man  —  if  you  'd  call  him  a  man  —  actually  did  go 
off  in  the  life-boat,  and  leave  his  wife  to  drown  ! 
What  do  you  think  of  that,  Steele?  Your  cousin 
told  me  of  half  a  dozen  people  who  upheld  him. 
He  saved  his  miserable  life  at  the  cost  of  his  wife's." 

"  I  don't  see  that  he  had  any  choice,"  Robert  an 
swered. 

"  Bob,"  the  doctor  admonished  him,  "  I  shall  have 
to  order  you  to  bed,  if  you  utter  such  sentiments  ; 
it  shows  that  you  are  not  strong.  Sidney,  you  are 
not  going  to  agree  with  him  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  think  they  should  have 
died  together.  They  had  a  right  to  themselves. 
Why  should  the  woman  have  insisted  that  her  hus 
band  should  live  heart-broken  all  his  days  ?  Oh, 
she  was  cruel!  She  didn't  really  love  him." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  Robert  asked,  with  that  hes 
itation  which  always  came  into  his  voice  when  he 


100  SIDNEY. 

spoke  to  Sidney.  "  I  think  she  loved  him  divinely, 
because  she  wanted  the  highest  thing  for  him  ;  and 
what  must  have  been  his  passion  for  duty  that  he 
could  leave  her  !  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Alan,  "  the  value  of  an 
effort  is  determined  by  its  result,  not  by  the  nobility 
of  motive  which  prompts  it.  You  are  both  wrong ; 
he  should  have  saved  her  and  died  himself.  Here  's 
Miss  Sally.  What  do  you  say,  Miss  Sally  ?"  And 
then  he  told  her  the  story. 

"  I  think  they  should  both  have  put  on  life-pre 
servers,"  answered  Miss  Sally  earnestly  ;  at  which 
they  laughed  at  her,  even  Robert ;  yet  there  was  a 
new  consciousness  in  his  heart  as  he  did  so,  a  sort  of 
pity  that  she  had  not  seen  the  deeper  thing ;  and 
with  it  that  tenderness  without  reason,  which  ex 
cuses  and  commends  at  the  same  time.  The  laugh 
ter,  Sidney's  at  least,  made  him  resentful  as  well  as 
tender. 

Robert  Steele,  not  yet  strong,  very  pitiful,  very 
grateful,  was  drifting  gradually  to  a  position  where 
he  should  say,  "  She  is  so  kind  to  me.  I  am  so  sorry 
for  her.  I  will  try  to  be  worthy  of  her  friendship. 
I  —  love  her!"  He  sighted  this  point  that  rainy 
morning  in  January,  though  it  was  nearly  two  weeks 
later  that  he  fairly  rounded  it,  being  then  within 
three  days  of  his  departure  from  Major  Lee's  house. 
II is  visit  had  prolonged  itself  far  beyond  Alan's  ex 
pectation  ;  indeed,  it  had  been  evident  to  the  doctor 
ten  days  before  that  Robert  had  stayed  as  long  as 
the  most  ardent  hospitality  might  desire ;  but  such  a 
thought  had  not  occurred  to  the  sick  man.  Miss 


SIDNEY.  101 

Sally  had  assured  him/vvheri'  lie1  protested  at  'the 
trouble  he  gave,  and  said  he  must  go  away,  that  it 
was  a  pleasure  to  have  him  stay  ;  and  Major  Lee, 
courteous,  indifferent,  almost  unconscious  of  the 
young  mail's  presence,  but  never  forgetful  of  that 
forlorn,  half  invalid  life  of  which  he  had  had  a 
glimpse,  said,  too,  "  Pray  do  not  think  of  leaving 
us,  sir."  So  Robert  had  remained.  He  had,  of 
course,  no  inkling  of  Mrs.  Paul's  joy  in  this,  as  he 
had  not  seen  her.  She  had  fallen  ill,  "  and  when  I 
have  a  cold  in  my  head,"  she  announced  to  Miss 
Sally,  "  I  don't  go  about  making  an  object  of  my 
self."  It  was  for  this  reason,  too,  that  the  tea-party 
had  been  postponed,  and  that  she  did  not  know  that 
John  had  gone  away  from  home  for  a  week  ;  for  it 
was  not  Mrs.  Paul's  habit  to  receive  her  son  in  her 
bedroom,  and  no  one  cared  to  impart  the  informa 
tion.  Only  Scarlett  and  Miss  Sally  were  privileged 
to  see  the  undress  of  their  tyrant,  and  they  found 
her  more  awful  with  her  white  hair  drawn  straight 
and  tight  away  from  her  fierce  eyes,  and  without  the 
softness  of  lace  about  her  neck  and  wrists,  than 
when  in  the  dignity  of  her  satin  gowns. 

She  had  taken  cold  the  day  of  the  sleet  storm,  — 
she  remembered  the  date  with  angry  exactness,  — 
and  the  Lord  only  knew  when  she  could  be  down 
stairs  again,  and  able  to  ask  the  people  to  tea.  Yet 
Mr.  Steele's  lengthened  stay  was  somewhat  pacify 
ing,  and  the  first  time  that  she  was  in  the  drawing- 
room  again,  and  had  had  a  talk  with  Sidney  about 
him,  she  was  really  pleasant  for  the  rest  of  the  even 
ing,  even  to  Mr.  Brown,  when  he  called,  as  was  his 


10.2  t8f#$Y. 

duty,  to '  congratulate' flic  richest  member  of  his  par 
ish  upon  her  recovery.  But  all  the  while  that  she 
was  listening  to  him  or  giving  advice  ("I  never 
shrink  from  giving  advice,"  she  had  declared  more 
than  once,  which,  indeed,  was  strictly  true),  she  was 
making  many  plans  for  Sidney  and  Robert  Steele. 

It  was  almost  a  pity,  for  it  would  have  saved  her 
much  disappointment  in  the  future,  that  she  could 
not  at  that  moment  have  seen  Miss  Sally  and  Mr. 
Steele  sitting  by  the  fire  in  the  yellow  parlor.  The 
major  was  in  his  library,  where,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  Sidney  had  joined  him  ;  so  these  two  per 
sons,  no  longer  young,  arid  therefore  to  be  trusted, 
were  alone. 

It  was  a  relief  to  Robert  when  Sidney  left  them. 
That  wide  questioning  look  in  her  frank  eyes  always 
kindled  in  him  a  hot  disgust  with  himself,  and  a  de 
sire  to  be  soothed  by  Miss  Sally's  gentle  if  ignorant 
approval.  How  well  she  understood  his  rnoods,  he 
said  to  himself,  as  she  fell  into  a  pleasant  silence. 
So  long  as  he  did  not  know  that  her  thoughts  were 
upon  the  failure  of  her  beef  stock  to  clear,  his  con 
tent  could  not  be  lessened.  He  sat  in  his  usual  at 
titude,  his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  and  his  sad 
eyes  watching  the  dancing  shine  of  the  flames.  Miss 
Sally  had  drawn  a  bit  of  cambric  from  her  green 
workbag,  and  was  softly  stroking  the  gathers  with 
her  needle. 

"That  is  something  for  somebody,  I  am  sure?" 
Robert  commented. 

She  nodded  pleasantly.  "  Sidney  does  n't  like  to 
sew,"  she  explained. 


SIDNEY.  103 

Robert  Steele  sighed.  "  I  suppose  you  have 
never  known  the  feeling  of  self-reproach  for  neglect 
of  any  one  you  love  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  almost  think,"  said  Miss  Sally,  "  that 
love  means  self-reproach.  I  don't  see  how  a  person 
can  ever  be  satisfied  with  what  he  does  for  any  one 
he  cares  for." 

"  Still,  love  always  forgives  love,"  Robert  an 
swered,  "even  for  apparent  neglect."  lie  was 
thinking  of  that  last  look  in  his  mother's  face,  when 
weakness  and  fear  had  silenced  her  reproaches,  and 
she  had  —  how  Robert  blessed  her  for  it !  —  "  for 
given  "  him.  Then  his  thoughts  followed  the  story 
of  his  own  miserable  cowardice.  "  It  is  your  own 
forgiveness  that  it  is  hardest  to  get,"  he  said. 

Miss  Sally  looked  puzzled ;  then,  with  a  gleam  of 
that  good  sense  which  seems  an  actual  part  of  a 
somewhat  foolish  character,  she  said,  "  But  I  think 
you  forgive  yourself  when  you  make  yourself  wor 
thy  to  be  forgiven  by  somebody  else  ;  not  when  they 
do  forgive  you,  but  when  they  ought  to.  Some 
times,  it  seems  to  me,"  continued  Miss  Sally,  who 
could  not  remember  an  injury  over  night,  "that  wo 
patdon  tilings  too  easily." 

Robert  sighed.  "  You  are  so  kind  in  spite  of  your 
justice.  You  have  forgiven  me." 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  Mr.  Steele,"  protested  Miss  Sally, 
"  I  did  n't  mean  —  why,  of  course  I  was  not  talking 
about  you ;  you  have  done  nothing  which  needs 
forgiveness ;  you  know  what  I  think  about  that 
money." 

As  for  his  remorse  for  his  cowardice,  it  never  en- 


104  SIDNEY. 

tered  Miss  Sally's  mind.  To  tell  the  truth,  she  had 
been  reproaching  herself  for  not  scolding  Susan 
about  the  ruined  beef  stock,  and  wishing  that  she 
had  been  more  strong-minded  than  to  forgive  her  so 
quickly. 

"  If  I  am  ever  anything  in  this  world,"  cried 
Robert,  his  face  lighting  with  earnestness,  "  it  will 
be  because  you  believe  in  me,  Miss  Sally !  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Steele,"  she  said  humbly,  "  don't  say 
that.  God  gives  you  the  strength.  I  only  see  it. 
I  sometimes  think  that  I  can  see  such  things,  be 
cause  I  am  a  little  on  the  outside  of  life,  you  know ; 
and  so  perhaps  I  have  more  time  to  see  what  is  good 
in  other  people." 

"  If  you  think  that  a  man  is  good,  it  will  make 
him  so.  He  has  got  to  live  up  to  it,"  Robert 
answered. 

Miss  Sally  laughed.  It  was  so  strange  and  pleas 
ant,  this  talking  out  her  little  thoughts. 

"  If  you  believe  in  me,"  he  went  on,  "•  I  will  grow 
into  something  for  your  sake.  I  will  build  a  better 
future  on  this  miserable  past,  if  you  will  show  me 
how."  Miss  Sally  put  her  work  down,  startled  by 
the  earnestness  in  his  voice.  His  eyes  had  a  strained 
and  hunted  look  in  them,  and  his  lips,  under  his  soft 
brown  beard,  were  pressed  hard  together.  "  And 
you  shall  not  be  on  the  outside  of  anybody's  life  ; 
you  shall  be  in  mine,  you  shall  make  it !  " 

"I — I  '11  help  you  all  I  can,"  she  said  simply, 
but  her  voice  trembled  ;  she  did  not  know  why,  but 
she  was  vaguely  frightened  ;  she  began  to  sew  very 
fast,  and  looked  toward  the  door,  as  though  medi 
tating  flight. 


SIDNEY.  105 

"  I  will  be  something  in  the  world.  Oh,  care  for 
me  just  a  little,  Miss  Sally  !  " 

"I  —  I  don't  understand,"  she  faltered,  and  then 
regained  her  presence  of  mind.  "  I  'm  sure  we  all 
like  you,  Mr.  Steele."  But  her  hands  shook,  and 
the  needle  flashed  in  and  out  unsteadily. 

"  Why,  I  "  —  he  paused,  and  put  his  hands  over 
his  face  for  an  instant ;  he  was  saying  to  himself  that 
it  was  for  her  sake  that  he  was  conquering  his  sin  — 
"  I  love  you.  You  have  been  good  to  me,  you  have 
made  me  feel  that  there  is  hope  for  me  yet,  you  have 
given  me  life  —  and  I  love  you  !  " 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  honest  than  this 
declaration.  No  young  man  who  has  played  the 
sighing  lover  for  a  year  could,  at  that  one  instant  of 
unrecognized  pity  and  profound  gratitude,  have  felt 
himself  more  truly  in  love  than  did  Robert  Steele 
now.  How  could  he  tell  that  his  growing  hold  upon 
life  was  due  not  only  to  Miss  Sally's  belief  in  him, 
but  also  to  a  firmer  pulse  and  a  healthier  circulation  ? 
And  how  could  the  timid,  trustful  little  spinster  dis 
criminate  ?  She  had  had  no  past  experience  with  a 
man  in  love,  with  which  to  compare  this  scene  ;  she 
merely  began  to  cry  with  all  her  might,  stealthily 
wiping  her  eyes  on  the  bit  of  cambric,  and  saying, 
"Oh,  why,  my!  You  must  n't  talk  that  way,  Mr. 
Steele  !  " 

Robert  had  risen,  and  stood  beside  her  ;  one  ner 
vous  hand  upon  the  back  of  her  chair,  and  the  other 
covering  the  bit  of  cambric  and  her  trembling  fin 
gers.  It  would  have  been  hard  to  say  which  trem 
bled  most.  He  had  always  seen  her  strong  for  him, 


106  SIDNEY. 

and  this  weakness  stirred  him  profoundly.  "  Don't 
you  see?  I  love  you.  I  want  you  to  love  me,  Miss 
Sally,"  —  he  spoke  as  gently  as  to  a  sobbing  child, 
—  "  care  for  me,  and  for  your  sake  I  will  try  to  be 
all  you  can  desire." 

"  You  've  got  to  have  your  wine,"  replied  Miss 
Sally,  with  sudden  determination  and  calmness.  "  I 
don't  know  what  I  've  been  thinking  of  to  let  you 
talk  —  so  much." 

She  thrust  her  sewing  into  the  green  bag  in  a 
resolute  way,  but  her  lips  were  unsteady,  and  the 
tears  glittered  upon  her  lashes. 

"  Just  say  one  word,"  he  pleaded.  His  own  ear 
nestness  was  like  wine  to  him.  "  Love  me,  and  I  '11 
be  worthy  of  you.  Say  that  you  will  marry  me." 

"I  —  I  must  think,"  she  said.  So  many  things 
came  rushing  into  her  mind  :  assured  comfort  for 
Sidney  and  the  major ;  some  one  who  would  care  for 
her ;  a  happiness  of  her  own  which  might  show  Sid 
ney  many  things.  All  this  without  the  slightest 
thought  of  love  itself.  "  I  must  think  !  "  she  re 
peated,  and,  without  waiting  to  hear  his  entreaty, 
she  slipped  out  into  the  hall  and  up  to  the  darkness 
of  her  bedroom.  Her  face  burned  and  throbbed, 
and  she  put  her  hands  up  to  her  throat,  as  though 
she  could  not  breathe ;  a  little  quivering  sob  parted 
her  lips.  She  made  haste  to  light  her  lamp,  for  Miss 
Sally  was  not  one  to  whom  the  reserve  of  darkness 
was  a  comfort.  Then  she  sat  down  on  the  edge  of 
her  high  bed,  and  tried  to  compose  herself  ;  but  her 
breath  was  hurried,  and  her  eyes  blurred  once  or 
twice  with  half-frightened  tears. 


SIDNEY.  107 

" I  must  really,"  she  said  to  herself,  —  "I  must 
really  take  some  pellets.  I  am  —  I  am  agitated." 
A  small  chest,  holding  many  little  vials,  stood  on 
the  straight-legged  dressing-table.  Miss  Sally  lifted 
the  lid  and  regarded  the  contents  critically.  "  What 
would  be  best  ?  "  she  pondered,  and  was  not  satisfied 
until  she  had  opened  her  "  Domestic  Physician,"  and, 
glancing  down  the  list  of  emotions  of  the  mind, 
learned  that  fear,  excessive  joy,  violent  anger,  and 
unhappy  love  might  be  benefited  by  —  and  then  a 
list  of  names.  Miss  Sally  did  not  pause  to  classify 
her  emotion.  Ignatia  was  advised  for  three  of  the 
four  conditions,  so  it  was  the  safest  thing  to  try. 
Five  little  white  pills  were  counted  carefully  into 
one  shaking  palm,  and  then  placed  upon  her  tongue, 
while  she  stood,  the  bottle  in  her  hand,  awaiting 
their  effect.  A  moment  later  she  went  over  to  her 
bedside,  and  kneeling,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
She  was  ashamed  that  she  had  not  thought  of  this 
before.  The  small  pills  had  no  doubt  calmed  her 
mind  enough  for  faith.  She  prayed  with  all  her 
simple  heart  for  wisdom,  then  looked  up  to  see  that 
the  lamp  was  not  smoking,  and  prayed  again. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  three  hours  later,  when 
the  house  had  fallen  into  the  sleepy  silence  of  night, 
that  Sidney,  sitting  by  the  old  hour-glass  table  in  her 
bedroom,  her  smooth  forehead  frowning  over  some 
accounts  the  major  had  begged  her  to  settle  for  him, 
heard  a  hesitating  knock  at  her  door,  and  Miss 
Sally  entered. 

The  bare  and  lofty  room  was  full  of  shadows,  ex 
cept  for  the  spot  of  light  in  which  the  young  woman 


108  SIDNEY. 

sat,  so,  glancing  up  in  a  preoccupied  way,  she  did  not 
see  that  Miss  Sally's  eyes  were  red  and  her  mouth 
tremulous.  Miss  Sally's  gray  flannel  dressing-gown 
was  short  and  scanty,  and  when  she  knelt  by  the 
hearth  and  stirred  the  fire  she  shivered  a  little. 

"  It  is  cold  in  here,  Sidney,"  she  said. 

"  Is  it  ?  "  the  girl  answered  tranquilly.  "With  the 
soft  color  in  her  cheek  and  the  swift,  warm  youth  in 
every  vein,  how  could  Sidney  know  that  the  little 
drowsy  fire  in  the  wide  black  fireplace  quite  failed 
to  heat  the  big  room  ?  There  were  many  draughts 
in  Sidney's  bedroom,  which  had  windows  on  two 
sides,  sagging  doorsills,  and  a  great  chimney,  and  the 
room  was  cold,  —  so  cold  that  on  the  small  fan-lights 
which  capped  the  windows  there  was  a  faint  cross- 
hatching  of  frost,  and  when  the  moon  looked  in  upon 
Sidney,  adding  the  columns  of  figures,  these  wonder 
ful  lines  and  feathers  sparkled  as  though  a  diamond 
had  been  shivered  against  the  glass.  A  path  of 
moonlight  lay  across  the  floor,  and  touched  the  pil 
lows  and  the  white  canopy  of  the  bed.  It  glim 
mered  on  the  brass  knobs  of  the  dressing-table,  and 
spread  a  film  of  silver  upon  the  oval  mirror  bal 
anced  on  the  chest  of  drawers.  It  showed,  too,  Miss 
Sally  crouched  upon  the  hearth,  and  holding  up  one 
hand  to  shield  her  face  from  the  fire. 

Is  a  woman  ever  too  worldly  or  too  simple,  too 
young  or  too  old,  to  desire  sympathy  in  a  love  affair? 
A  man  rarely  burns  to  pour  even  a  successful  love 
into  any  other  man's  bosom  ;  but  a  woman  must  say, 
or  look,  "  My  life  is  not  uncrowned."  The  accept 
ance  or  nonacceptance  of  the  crown  is  the  usual 


SIDNEY.  109 

excuse  for  such  confidences.  Miss  Sally  felt  vaguely 
that  her  niece  was  altogether  remote  from  love  and 
loving,  and  yet,  she  must  talk  to  some  one  ! 

"  Sidney,"  she  began. 

The  girl  glanced  at  the  forlorn  gray  heap  beside 
the  fire,  and  noted,  with  the  cruel  exactness  of  youth, 
that  Miss  Sally's  hair  showed  some  white  threads 
about  the  temples.  "  Well,  dear  ?  "  she  said. 

"  How  do  you  think  "  —  Miss  Sally  seemed  ab 
sorbed  in  following  the  pattern  of  the  brass  fender 
with  her  eyes  — "  that  a  woman  knows  she  is  in 
love  ?  " 

Sidney  put  down  her  pen,  and  stared  at  her  aunt 
with  undisguised  astonishment.  "  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know  !  How  do  you  suppose  ?  "  There  was  the 
impersonal  interest  in  her  voice  with  which  an  in 
habitant  of  another  world  might  question  a  state  of 
mind  he  could  never  know.  "  Who  has  been  asking 
your  advice  ?  " 

Miss  Sally  shook  her  head  miserably.  "  I  've 
always  thought,  at  least  it  has  seemed  to  me,  that 
one  would  feel,  if  she  fell  in  love,"  —  Miss  Sally 
blushed  —  "  that  she  could  n't  have  any  life  in  the 
future  without  —  the  other  person ;  and  as  if  she 
had  not  been  alive  in  the  past,  not  having  had  — 
the  other  person.  And  yet,  you  see,  Sidney,  there 
are  so  many  other  things  ?  " 

"  What  other  things  ?  "  Sidney  asked,  curiously. 
This  odd  conversation  did  not  suggest  anything  seri 
ous  ;  it  only  amused  her.  Miss  Sally  never  needed 
a  premise,  and  was  incapable  of  reaching  a  conclu 
sion,  so  her  niece  was  not  apt  to  look  for  meaning 
in  her  chatter. 


110  SIDNEY. 

"  Well,  i£  you  like  a  person  very  much,  and  he 
likes  you  very  much,  and  he  will  make  you  happy, 
and  he  needs  you,  and  you  think  it  would  be  pleas 
ant,  —  only  of  course  life  would  be  pleasant,  any 
how,  but  not  as  pleasant,  —  in  fact  —  well,  if  you 
want  to  —  Sidney,  I  suppose  that 's  a  kind  of  love  ?  " 

Sidney  flung  her  head  back  with  a  laugh,  closing 
her  account-book  with  a  soft  bang.  "  I  don't  pretend 
to  know  what  love  is.  but  I  know  what  it  is  not ! 
Has  your  Mr.  Steele  been  asking  your  advice  ?  Has 
he  fallen  in  love  with  anybody  ?  He  had  better  ask 
father's  advice."  A  quick  gravity  came  into  her 
face  as  she  spoke  of  the  major. 

Miss  Sally  shook  her  head.  "  You  know  I  don't 
think  as  brother  does?" 

Perhaps  if  she  had  not  just  risen  from  her  knees, 
she  would  not  have  invited  argument  by  even  so  mild 
an  assertion  of  her  opinion.  Very  long  ago,  she  had 
given  up  discussion  upon  such  subjects,  and  put  her 
theories  into  an  unselfish  life.  In  earlier  days  she 
had  tried  argument  once  or  twice,  but  had  been 
quickly  worsted  by  her  brother's  logic,  given  in  Sid 
ney's  silver  voice. 

"  It 's  better,"  Miss  Sally  had  assured  herself  with 
wistful  humility,  "  for  little  minds  to  leave  great 
things  alone ;  somehow,  if  I  meddle  with  them,  it 
is  n't  only  I  that  am  ridiculous,  but  the  great  things 
are,  too."  That  she  referred  to  her  belief  now 
showed  how  deeply  she  was  moved. 

"  I  think  people  are  happier  when  they  love  each 
other,"  she  said. 

"If  they   believe   themselves  immortal,"   Sidney 


SIDNEY.  Ill 

answered,  with  that  pitying  contempt  which  affec 
tion  keeps  good-natured,  "  or  if  they  can  forget 
death." 

"  I  think,"  answered  Miss  Sally,  rising  and  look 
ing  at  her  niece  with  another  kind  of  pity,  "  that  if 
they  remember  the  dear  Lord,  they  can  trust  the 
rest."  She  was  so  earnest,  she  almost  forgot  that 
she  had  been  asking  advice  for  herself.  "  If  they 
just  take  God  into  their  lives,  darling,  they  need  n't 
fear  death." 

Sidney  smiled.  "Dear!"  she  said,  putting  her 
strong  young  arms  about  the  little  figure ;  and  the 
amusement  in  those  starlike  eyes  silenced  Miss 
Sally. 


VIII. 

IT  was  sadly  a  matter  of  course  that  Sidney  should 
forget  that  half  hour  by  her  bedroom  fire,  and  Miss 
Sally's  troubled  look.  Like  every  one  else  she  was 
usad  to  her  aunt's  inconsequence  ;  that  Miss  Sal 
ly  should  have  discussed  the  symptoms  of  falling  in 
love  meant  nothing  more  practical  than  did  her 
views  on  political  economy,  when  she  suggested  that 
all  the  money  in  the  world  might  be  divided,  so  that 
there  should  not  be  any  more  poverty.  "  Well,  at 
least,"  she  had  explained,  blushing  but  persistent, 
"  it  would  be  more  like  the  golden  rule."  Only 
Robert  Steele  had  had  the  insight  to  know  how 
brave  she  was  to  stand  by  her  little  foolish  opinion, 
and  it  was  he,  now,  who  knew  the  meaning  of  the 
blush  that  flickered  in  her  face  when  any  one  spoke 
to  her. 

There  was  a  look  of  half-frightened  importance, 
and  a  fluttering  delight,  in  Miss  Sally's  eyes  the  day 
after  Robert  had  told  her  that  he  loved  her,  which, 
however,  had  no  relation  to  love.  She  was  undenia 
bly  pleased,  but  as  for  accepting  Mr.  Steele,  —  that 
was  another  matter.  Yet  there  were  so  many  rea 
sons  for  it,  she  said  to  herself,  absently  dusting  the 
library  for  the  second  time.  "  It  would  be  a  good 
thing  for  Sidney,  oh,  in  so  many  ways  !  And  if  I 


SIDNEY.  113 

still  lived  here"  (it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  say 
"we  "),  —  "if  I  still  lived  here,  I  could  take  better 
care  than  ever  of  Mortimer.  And  oh,  what  pretty 
dresses  Sidney  should  have !  "  And  there  was  some 
thing  as  near  malice  as  could  come  into  her  gentle 
soul,  when  she  reflected,  "  How  surprised  Mrs.  Paul 
would  be  !  "  To  Robert  himself  she  had  only  said, 
looking  hard  out  of  the  window,  as  she  handed  him 
his  beef-tea,  in  a  sidewise,  crab-like  manner,  "  Please 
to  wait  a  little,  Mr.  Steele  ;  please  to  let  me  think." 
She  looked  so  small  and  frightened  that,  with  a 
warmer  wave  of  that  impulse  he  had  called  love,  he 
answered  very  tenderly,  "  Yes,  Miss  Sally,  —  only 
do  not  give  me  up." 

The  pleading  in  his  voice  seemed  to  his  listener 
irresistible  ;  she  had  the  same  desire  to  make  him 
happy  which  she  felt  whenever  she  stopped  to  com 
fort  a  crying  child  in  the  street,  and  give  it  a  penny 
and  a  kiss.  But  she  could  not  frame  the  words 
for  which  he  asked.  Instead,  he  heard  her  in  the 
hall,  and  caught  the  major's  patient  impatience  as 
she  fussed  about  his  coat.  "  Fussed  "  was  the  un 
compromising  word  which  flashed  into  Mr.  Steele's 
mind  ;  yet  he  knew  very  well,  as  he  resented  his 
own  thought,  that  had  that  care  been  expressed  in 
his  behalf  he  would  not  have  called  it  "  fuss."  He 
was  to  leave  Major  Lee's  the  next  day,  and  as  the 
two  households  were  almost  one,  it  was  only  proper 
that  he  should  go  that  afternoon  to  say  good-by  to 
Mrs.  Paul ;  the  strain  of  expectation  made  it  hard 
to  sit  alone  in  the  parlor,  and  Miss  Sally  seemed 
suddenly  occupied  upstairs,  so  it  was  a  relief  to  go 
out. 


114  SIDNEY. 

He  found  Mrs.  Paul  just  getting  into  her  carriage, 
a  bad  moment  for  pleasant  commonplaces,  or  indeed 
for  anything,  —  a  moment  at  which  Davids,  diplo 
mat  as  he  was,  always  quailed.  She  was  angry  that 
Robert  Steele  should  see  her  thus,  muffled  in  hid 
eous  wraps  and  supported  by  her  man-servant ;  look 
ing  —  no  one  knew  it  better  than  she  —  old,  and 
awkward,  and  pitifully  feeble.  Yet  the  quiet  way 
in  which  Mr.  Steele  took  Davids'  place,  and  with 
wonderful  gentleness  lifted  her  into  the  carriage,  dis 
armed  her  pride  by  its  appeal  to  the  suffering  body. 
She  glared  at  him  through  her  veils,  and  said  grudg 
ingly,  "  Come,  get  in.  You  might  as  well  call  upon 
me  in  the  carriage  as  anywhere  else."  Yet  when  he 
had  seated  himself  opposite  her,  and  Davids  had 
slammed  the  door,  pride  asserted  itself.  With  weak, 
uncertain  hands,  and  bitter  impatience  at  the  weak 
ness,  she  pulled  the  lace  back  from  her  face.  She 
was  perfectly  aware  that  the  soft  black  folds  made  a 
fitting  frame  for  her  dark  eyes  and  her  shadowy 
puffs  of  white  hair.  Then  she  smiled. 

"Really,  this  is  very  nice  of  you,"  she  said, 
"  though  I  wonder  Sally  Lee  permitted  you  to  come 
out  alone.  She  has  been  a  most  devoted  nurse." 
She  lifted  her  eyebrows,  with  that  air  which  says, 
"  I  can  sympathize  with  you !  " 

"  She  has  indeed,"  Robert  answered.  He  was 
aware  that  he  spoke  warmly,  and  vaguely  dismayed 
at  his  own  consciousness.  "  There  is  no  one  so  kind 
as  Miss  Lee,"  he  added. 

"True,"  returned  Mrs.  Paul,  with  the  slightest 
shrug  under  her  laces.  "  Kindness  is  Sally's  metier 


SIDNEY.  115 

A  woman  has  to  have  some  peculiarity ;  goodness  is 
Sally's.  It  is  very  monotonous." 

"  If  it  were  more  general,  it  would  not  be  a  pe 
culiarity,"  Robert  answered  curtly. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  found  it  amusing  some 
times,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  again  with  that  look  of 
camaraderie  and  understanding.  "  A  little  of  it  is 
amusing ;  it  is  only  when  one  goes  through  years  of 
it,  as  I  have  done,  —  really  from  a  sense  of  duty, 
you  know,  to  keep  my  hold  upon  Sidney,  —  that  one 
finds  it  a  bore.  Poor  little  Sally !  How  well  I  re 
member  when  I  saw  her  first !  Mortimer  Lee 
brought  her  with  him  to  take  care  of  Sidney,  when 
he  came  North  after  his  wife's  death.  But  it  was  a 
pity  he  couldn't  have  had  a  person  of  more  sense. 
She  has  encouraged  all  his  wicked  ideas,  even  that 
folly  of  never  going  into  the  parlor  where  his  wife's 
picture  hangs,  you  know.  She  means  well,  no 
doubt,  but  she  is  so  silly  ;  sometimes  I  almost  fear 
she  makes  Sidney  dull." 

She  looked  at  him  keenly  as  she  said  that.  Mrs. 
Paul  knew  very  well  that  a  little  slur  is  like  oil  upon 
the  fire,  and  there  certainly  was  a  quick  annoyance 
in  his  face,  which  gave  her  much  satisfaction. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "  Sally  was  quite  plump 
when  she  first  came  to  Mercer,  —  twenty  years  ago 
and  more  ;  let  me  see,  she  must  have  been  twenty- 
five,  —  and  she  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  pin 
cushion  in  a  tight  black  cover  ;  she  wore  a  jacket, 
—  should  n't  you  know  that  Sally  would  wear  a 
jacket?" 

Robert  Steele  tingled  under  the  contempt  in  her 


116  SIDNEY. 

voice.  "  Whatever  Miss  Lee  wore  must  have  been 
suitable." 

Mrs.  Paul  laughed.  "  I  am  glad  you  admire 
Sidney's  aunt,  —  that  is  quite  proper.  But,  really, 
between  ourselves,  she  is  amusing  ?  Oh,  how  I  used 
to  admire  her  moral  courage  in  those  days  !  It  was 
before  there  was  a  Mrs.  Brown  at  the  Rectory,  and 
Lord !  how  regularly  Sally  went  to  church  !  Really, 
you  know,  Mr.  Steele,  where  an  unmarried  woman 
goes  with  increasing  devotion  to  a  church  where  the 
clergyman  is  attractive  and  also  unmarried,  it  shows 
a  willingness  to  be  misunderstood  which  is  noble. 
It  is  a  common  virtue  among  old  maids ;  if  the 
clergy  could  only  know  how  the  female  mind  con 
founds  religion  and  love,  they  might  not  be  so  hope 
ful  of  their  converts." 

"  There  was  never  such  a  thought  as  that  in  Miss 
Lee's  mind  !  "  cried  Robert,  his  face  dark  with  an 
ger.  (If  only  she  had  given  him  the  right  to  de 
fend  her !) 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Paul  carelessly,  "  it  does  n't 
signify.  Mr.  Brown  was  too  intelligent  a  man  ;  al 
though  once  I  really  did  fear  —  but  I  had  a  word 
with  him !  I  've  no  doubt  he 's  been  grateful  ever 
since ;  for  a  clergyman  is  so  unsuspecting  that  a  de 
signing  —  Who  was  that  young  woman  you  bowed 
to?" 

"My  cousin,  Katherine  Townsend,"  Robert  an 
swered  ;  "  and  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  shall  say 
good  afternoon.  I  must  see  her  for  a  moment." 

This  terrible  drive  must  end.  He  could  not  pro 
tect  Miss  Sally,  but  he  need  not  listen  to  her  nia- 
ligner. 


SIDNEY.  117 

"  She  walks  superbly,"  observed  Mrs.  Paul,  watch 
ing  the  tall,  straight  figure  hurrying  along  the  road. 
"  Is  she  handsome  ?  Who  is  she  ?  " 

Kobert,  with  one  hand  on  the  door-knob,  gave  her 
antecedents,  and  said  she  was  not  at  all  handsome ; 
but  Mrs.  Paul  nodded  approvingly  at  the  name  of 
Dray  ton,  and  forgave  the  lack  of  beauty. 

"  A  woman,"  she  declared,  "  who  holds  her  head 
like  that  can  afford  to  be  positively  ugly.  And 
poor,  you  say  ?  That  is  nothing.  She  's  her  mother's 
daughter,  and  she  can't  escape  the  habit  of  good 
manners  any  more  than  any  other  habit.  And  it  is 
manner  that  counts." 

She  was  reluctant  to  have  him  leave  her,  and  as 
he  stood  bareheaded  by  the  carriage  door  she  dealt 
one  more  blow  for  her  cause. 

"  Sidney  will  miss  you  when  you  go,"  she  said ; 
"  she  hears  so  little  sensible  talk :  for  Mortimer  Lee 
with  his  egotism,  —  his  grief  is  nothing  in  the  world 
but  inordinate  self-love,  —  is  as  absurd  in  his  way 
as  Sally  is  in  hers.  Good-by,  good-by,  —  let  me  see 
you  often." 

Eobert  joined  his  cousin,  and  walked  on  with  her 
to  make  the  long-delayed  call ;  but  when  he  went 
away  Katherine  Townsend  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 
He  was  so  preoccupied,  so  silently  depressed,  that  it 
was  an  effort  to  talk  to  him.  He  had  had  an  in 
stant  of  dismay  in  realizing  that  he  perceived  a 
perverted  truth  in  some  of  the  things  Mrs.  Paul  had 
said  of  the  woman  he  loved,  —  "  the  woman  I  love 
with  all  my  heart ; "  and  his  dismay  was,  he  de 
clared,  because  of  the  weakness  of  his  character, 


118  SIDNEY. 

not  the  weakness  of  his  love.  "  That  is  the  strong 
est  thing  about  me,  at  least,"  he  thought  drearily. 
He  brightened  up  a  little  when,  near  the  bridge, 
Alan  overtook  him.  Alan  made  too  many  demands 
upon  his  friends  to  admit  of  anything  so  selfish  as 
depression.  Just  now,  too,  the  doctor  was  full  of 
an  impetuous  determination  to  be  happy.  He  had 
come  out  to  walk  with  this  purpose  distinctly  in  his 
mind. 

It  was  one  of  those  still,  raw  days,  with  a  feeling 
of  snow  in  the  air,  and  a  mist  settling  like  smoke 
along  the  thawing  ground.  On  hills  that  faced  the 
south,  patches  of  sodden  grass  showed  here  and  there 
through  the  melting  snow.  The  river  had  not  been 
frozen  over  for  nearly  a  fortnight,  but  its  black, 
hurrying  current  bore  occasional  blocks  of  broken, 
snowy  ice.  Alan  was  blind  to  the  cheerlessness  of 
the  day.  He  was  thinking,  with  an  intentness  which 
was  a  new  sensation,  of  Sidney  and  her  view  of  life. 
Not  because  he  feared  it,  but  because  it  was  a  part 
of  her  charm,  this  strange  and  exquisite  aloofness 
from  the  things  which  other  women  took  into  their 
lives.  He  would  not  have  had  it  otherwise,  he  told 
himself,  and  yet  —  he  was  not  altogether  happy. 
"  We  are  queer  beings,  —  men,"  he  declared,  smiling 
and  frowning  together. 

He  had  taken  this  walk  out  into  the  country  for 
the  pleasure  of  thinking  about  Sidney,  but  some 
times  this  pleasant  thinking  was  interrupted  by  an 
annoyed  remembrance  of  a  certain  erratic  action  of 
his  heart,  which  he  had  watched  with  a  good  deal  of 
interest  for  nearly  two  years  now.  "  That 's  the 


SIDNEY.  119 

worst  of  being  a  doctor,"  he  grumbled  ;  "  knowledge 
divides  your  chances  by  two.  But  hang  it !  I  won't 
think  about  it."  And  he  dismissed  it,  as  he  had  often 
done  before,  but  this  time  with  a  new  unwillingness 
to  see  a  thing  which  might  affect  Sidney  Lee !  This 
determination  and  the  joyous  flight  of  his  fancy  had 
brought  exhilaration  and  satisfaction  into  his  face. 

O 

"  Hello,  Bob ! "  he  called  out  gayly,  as  he  saw 
Robert  walking  slowly  through  the  mist;  and,  as 
he  reached  him,  he  struck  him  lightly  on  the  shoul 
der.  "  Where  do  you  hail  from  ?  Been  to  see  the 
charming  Katherine  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Robert  answered,  "  and  Mrs.  Paul.  Alan, 
what  a  woman  she  is  !  " 

"  Superb !  "  cried  the  other,  with  a  grimace. 
"  Has  she  been  giving  you  good  advice  ?  I  observe 
that  whenever  she  does  not  set  a  bad  example,  she 
gives  good  advice." 

Robert  was  in  no  mood  for  flippancy.  He  did 
not  reply,  but  looked  drearily  before  him  and  sighed. 
He  was  trying  to  understand  his  depression.  "  With 
such  hope  of  happiness  as  I  have,"  he  was  saying  to 
himself,  "  why  can  I  not  conquer  what  is,  of  course, 
bodily  weakness?  "  But  he  sighed  again  ;  it  was  at 
such  a  moment  as  this  that  his  face  was  an  especial 
index  of  his  character.  Deep,  wistful  gray  eyes, 
under  a  sweep  of  brown  hair  that  fell  across  his 
forehead,  and  required  at  times  a  half-backward  toss 
of  his  head  to  keep  it  in  its  place ;  a  delicate  and 
sensitive  mouth  hidden  in  a  pointed  beard,  which 
concealed  a  chin  whose  resolution  belied  the  tender 
ness  of  his  eyes  and  the  weakness  of  his  lips.  It 


120  SIDNEY. 

was  an  interesting  face ;  not  from  what  it  hinted  of 
reserve,  but  because  of  its  confiding  sweetness.  He 
was  only  silent  now,  he  thought,  because  he  had  no 
right  to  tell  Alan  of  his  new  hope. 

On  the  bridge  the  two  men  stopped  and,  leaning 
on  the  hand-rail,  looked  down  into  the  water.  The 
river  was  so  high  that  there  was  a  jar  and  thrill  all 
through  the  tumbling  old  structure. 

"  Look  here,"  Alan  said,  when  they  had  watched 
the  sweep  of  the  water  a  moment  in  silence,  "  what 
a  mighty  fine  girl  Miss  Townsend  is !  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  Robert  answered,  smiling ; 
"  is  n't  she  my  cousin,  man  ?  " 

"  No  nonsense  about  her,"  Alan  proceeded  ;  "  no 
money;  reasonably  good-looking;  no  morbid  father 
with  preposterous  theories."  (Alan  had  not  yet 
reached  the  point  where  he  could  take  the  major 
seriously,  although,  to  be  sure,  he  was  apprehensive 
that  the  major  might  take  him  seriously.)  "  I 
should  think  you  would  be  the  fellow  to  say  you  saw 
the  hand  of  Providence  in  it." 

"  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  a  hand  John  Paul 
would  see  in  it  then,"  returned  Robert. 

"Oh!"  said  Alan.  "What?  Well,  I  always 
knew  Paul  was  a  man  of  intelligence,  though  he 
has  no  tongue.  I  'in  sorry  for  you,  Bob." 

"  You  need  n't  be,"  Robert  assured  him. 

"  Now,  look  here,"  Alan  insisted.  "  (Come  on, 
don't  stand  here  in  the  cold.)  There  must  be  some 
reason  that  you  did  n't  fall  in  love  with  her,  because 
it  was  so  plainly  the  thing  for  you  to  do.  A  girl 
who  is  poor,  charming  —  well,  I  said  all  that  —  and 
yet  you  did  n't  ?  " 


SIDNEY.  121 

"  I  don't  see  why  this  does  n't  apply  equally  to 
you,"  answered  the  other  ;  "  and,  furthermore,"  — 
he  looked  at  his  friend  with  affection  shining  in  his 
eyes,  —  "  furthermore,  I  don't  see  how  she  or  any 
other  woman  could  have  helped  "  — 

"  Bah !  "  cried  Alan.  "  No,  there  's  a  reason  for 
your  not  doing  it.  I  swear,  Steele,  I  believe  there 
is 'Another'!  What?" 

Robert's  face  flushed.     Alan  was  delighted. 
"  Come,    now,"    he    demanded,    "  out  with   it !  " 
Then  his  amusement  suddenly  faded  in  the  thought 
of  Sidney ;  he  even  looked  anxious. 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  Robert  began,  laughing  to 
protect  himself.  But  Alan  was  in  earnest  under  his 
lightness. 

"  You  'd  better  tell  me,"  he  said.  "  If  you  don't, 
I  '11  think  that  it  is  —  Miss  Sally !  There  !  I  've  no 
business  to  jest  about  her.  But,  seriously,  you  may 
as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  ask  my  advice,  be 
cause,  you  know,  you've  got  to  have  my  consent, 
and  "  — 

Robert  had  been  breathless  for  a  moment ;  then  he 
broke  in  sternly,  "  You  are  right ;  you  have  no  busi 
ness  to  use  Miss  Lee's  name." 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "  Bob," 
—  he  said,  and  paused.  A  woman  had  brushed 
past  them,  coming  with  hesitating  and  uncertain 
steps  out  of  the  mist.  Alan,  seeing  her  face,  forgot 
his  raillery,  and  forgot  too  the  thought  which  had 
flashed  into  his  mind  at  Robert's  words.  "  Poor 
soul !  "  he  said  ;  "  did  you  see  that,  Bob  ?  What  a 
face !  —  sick  with  misery.  A  look  like  that  strikes 


122  SIDNEY. 

on  your  heart  like  a  hammer."  He  stopped  and 
glanced  back,  but  seemed  to  check  the  impulse  to 
follow  her.  "Poor,  forlorn  creature  !  At  least  we 
never  saw  that  kind  of  wretchedness  in  Italy.  The 
earth  was  kind,  and  the  air.  People  were  not  phys 
ically  wretched,  and  to  me  physical  suffering  is  no 
end  worse  than  moral  misery." 

"  That  is  unworthy  of  you,  Alan,"  Robert  began, 
still  confounded  by  that  reference  to  Miss  Sally  and 
hearing  only  the  end  of  the  sentence  ;  then  he  too 
looked  back  at  the  hurrying  shape  in  the  fog. 
"  Hold  on  a  minute,  will  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  She  is 
in  some  sort  of  trouble  ;  perhaps  a  little  help "  — 
and  he  turned  to  follow  the  gaunt  young  figure 
which  had  so  old  and  awful  a  face.  Alan  tried  to 
detain  him. 

"  No  good,  Bob ;  money  given  that  way  does  no 
good  except  to  the  giver.  Sidney  says  that 's  the 
use  of  all  philanthropy." 

But  Robert  had  gone,  and  Alan  sauntered  on 
slowly,  alone.  He  smiled  as  he  spoke  Sidney's 
name,  and  now,  as  he  walked,  he  whistled  softly  to 
himself.  Just  then,  back  from  the  middle  of  the 
bridge,  and  wavering  down  to  the  water,  came  a 
shrill  scream,  followed  by  a  splash  which  sent  a 
shudder  through  the  darkening  mist.  Alan  turned, 
while  the  sound  still  rang  in  his  ears,  and  ran  back. 
How  very  long  the  bridge  seemed  before  he  reached 
Robert !  He  had  one  glimpse  of  him,  starting  for 
ward  as  though  to  jump  into  the  river,  and  then 
staggering  back,  faint  with  horror,  against  the  side 
of  the  bridge.  "  She  climbed  upon  the  rail,"  he 
gasped,  "  and  then  "  — 


SIDNEY.  123 

Alan  pulled  off  his  coat,  and  with  one  bound 
swung  himself  over  the  hand  rail  and  would  have 
dropped  into  the  water,  but  Robert  clung  to  his 
arm. 

"  No,"    he   cried,    "  you    shall    not,   you  've    no 
right"  — 

"  Let  go !  "  the  doctor  said  between  his  teeth  ;  he 
twisted  himself  from  his  friend's  grasp,  and  in  an 
other  moment  was  in  the  river.  He  must  have 
known,  even  as  he  jumped,  that  it  was  too  late,  and 
that  Death  had  already  pulled  the  woman  under  the 
water.  But  he  called  out  to  her  not  to  fear,  —  that 
he  was  coming,  that  he  would  save  her.  The  echo 
of  that  brave  young  voice  surely  followed  her  into 
eternity. 

As  for  Robert,  he  stood  an  instant  in  horror  and 
dismay,  staring  at  the  hurrying  river  with  its  flecks 
of  white  ice,  where  Alan,  buffeting  the  water  and 
the  mist,  was  whirling  out  of  his  sight.  Then  he 
made  as  though  he  would  follow  his  friend ;  then 
cried  out,  "  My  God,  what  have  I  done  !  "  then  ran 
towards  the  toll-house,  shouting  madly  for  a  boat. 
But  a  skiff  had  been  put  out.  Mrs.  Jennings  had 
seen  the  girl  jump,  and  had  screamed  to  a  man  upon 
the  shore,  with  all  the  might  of  her  little  vo^'ce  hid 
in  folds  of  flesh.  The  whole  thing  was  over  in  ten 
minutes,  and  Alan  safe  on  land.  But  it  seemed  to 
Robert  Steele  as  if  he  lived  a  year  as  he  stood  wait 
ing  for  the  boat  to  come  back.  He  saw  them  row 
ing  about,  —  looking  for  the  woman,  he  supposed  ; 
the  suspense  was  unbearable. 

"  You  're  hardly  able  to  stand,"  Job   Todd  was 


124  SIDNEY. 

saying  to  Alan,  for  it  was  he  who  had  pulled  the 
doctor  into  the  skiff  ;  "  and  what  made  you  try  to 
do  it,  anyhow  ?  A  woman  's  bound  to  have  her  own 
way  about  dyin',  like  everythin'  else.  And  in  that 
current  you  had  about  as  much  heft  as  a  shavin'." 

Alan  was  shivering  so  that  he  could  scarcely 
speak ;  but  he  laughed.  "  I  believe  you  'd  have 
been  the  very  man  to  do  it,  if  I  had  n't  had  the  first 
chance." 

"  Well,  very  likely  I  should  have  been  just  such  a 
fool,"  Job  admitted  modestly,  and  then  leaped 
ashore  to  help  Alan  out  of  the  boat  and  hurry  him 
up  to  the  toll-house. 

"  I  'm  all  right,"  the  doctor  said  to  Robert,  "  but, 
poor  soul  —  we  were  too  late!"  As  he  spoke,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  Robert  had  been  almost  at  the 
woman's  side  when  she  threw  herself  into  the  river. 
He  was  too  confused  by  the  realization  that  he  had 
just  seen  death,  and  by  the  shock,  just  making  itself 
felt,  of  his  plunge  into  the  icy  water,  to  have  any 
thing  but  puzzled  wonder  in  his  mind  ;  but  when  he 
was  in  the  toll-house,  and  Mrs.  Jennings,  with  tears 
and  brandy  and  hot  blankets,  was  hovering  about 
him,  ponderous,  but  ecstatic,  his  wonder  took  defi 
nite  shape.  Why  had  not  Robert  tried  to  save  her  ? 
Why  had  he  waited  ?  Fear  ?  He  refused  to  har 
bor  the  thought.  But  wliy  ? 

Mrs.  Jennings  was  pouring  out  her  unheeded 
praises,  and  regretting  that  her  'Liza  had  not  been 
at  home  to  see  such  bravery,  though  it  "  would  'a' 
been  a  shock,  too,  —  that  poor,  dear,  beautiful  young 
woman.  Job,  take  a  sup  o'  somethin'  hot ;  it 's  agi- 


SIDNEY.  125 

tatin'  to  see  such  sights,  —  I  feel  it  myself."  So 
she  took  the  sup  of  something  hot,  which  Job,  hav 
ing  signed  the  pledge  for  Eliza's  sake,  declined. 
Then  she  looked  at  Robert,  standing  silent,  with  de 
spair  agonizing  in  his  eyes  which  he  never  lifted 
from  Alan's  face.  "  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  you  ain't 
in  no  great  need  of  anythin'  ?  I  saw  you  on  the 
bridge  watchin'  her,  till  this  dear  gentleman  came 
up.  Well,  the  Lord  knows  it 's  pleasanter  not  to 
be  so  feelin'  as  some  of  us  is.  'Tis  n't  everybody 
as  could  'a'  stood  there,  and  not  'a'  tried  to  save  the 
poor  creature.  Now,  this  blessed  gentleman  here,  I 
see  he  's  one  to  give  way  to  his  feelin's,  like  me," 
declared  the  mistress  of  the  toll-house,  weeping  com 
fortably.  Then  she  asked  him,  being  anxious  to 
learn  his  name,  to  write  in  her  'Liza's  autograph  al 
bum.  Alan  laughed,  protested  that  he  did  not  de 
serve  the  honor  of  Miss  Eliza's  autograph  book,  ad 
mired  the  geraniums,  and  told  Mrs.  Jennings  he 
believed  she  'd  make  a  first-rate  nurse,  especially  for 
any  one  needing  stimulants  ;  but  he  never  looked  at 
Robert  Steele. 

When  the  carriage  which  Job  had  made  haste  to 
order,  arrived,  it  seemed  as  though  Mrs.  Jennings' 
enthusiasm  would  lead  her  to  bundle  herself  into  it ; 
it  made  her  praises  of  Alan  almost  insulting  to  the 
silent  "  coward  "  —  she  only  hinted  at  that  word  — 
who  took  his  place  beside  the  doctor.  But  when  the 
two  men  were  alone  in  the  carriage,  with  Mrs.  Jen 
nings'  admiration  shut  out,  it  was  Alan  who  was 
silent. 

"  Oh,  Alan,"  Robert  said,  in  a  smothered  voice, 


126  SIDNEY. 

"  what  is  right  ?  "  The  doctor  frowned.  "  I  thought 
—  and  yet  to  see  you  do  it  —  risk  your  life  because 
of  me  !  And  if  you  had  died,  what  then  ?  "  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  in  overwhelming 
and  passionate  pain. 

"  Please  do  not  give  it  another  thought,"  Alan 
answered,  with  a  carelessness  which  seemed  too  per 
fect  for  disdain  ;  "  you  see  I  am  none  the  worse." 

"  I  saw  her  first,"  Robert  went  on,  almost  as 
though  speaking  to  himself,  and  with  that  singularly 
distinct  enunciation  with  which  a  man  baffled  by 
conflicting  emotions  seeks  to  keep  one  idea  clear  in 
his  mind.  "I  —  I  watched  her  there  in  the  water, 
in  an  eddy,  —  I  could  have  saved  her  then.  But  I 
felt  so  sure  —  then  you  came.  Oh,  what  is  right  ? 
That  man  in  the  toll-house  would  have  done  it ;  even 
that  woman  said  "  — 

"  Pray  drop  the  subject,"  Alan  interrupted,  im 
patient  and  shivering.  The  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Jen 
nings  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  He  was  saying 
to  himself,  "  He  was  afraid." 

"  Oh,  Alan,"  cried  the  other,  in  an  agony,  "  help 
me  !  Was  I  right  ?  You  saw  it  one  way,  I  another. 
What  is  right?" 

"  I  was  very  glad  to  do  it,"  Alan  answered  curtly ; 
"  probably  you  were  not  strong  enough  to  attempt 
such  a  thing.  Of  course  you  were  wise  to  hesitate, 
and  —  oh,  damn  it,  Steele  I  Why  did  n't  you  do 
it?  "  His  face  was  quivering. 

Robert  looked  at  him,  dimly  seeing  what  his 
friend's  thought  had  been.  He  was  not  hurt.  The 
moment  was  too  great  for  personal  pain. 


SIDNEY  127 

"  I  did  not  try  to  save  her,"  he  said  simply,  "  be 
cause  I  believe  that  no  one  ought  to  interfere  with  a 
moral  act.  The  woman  had  a  right  to  take  her  own 
life  ;  it  lay  between  herself  and  her  God." 

Alan  stared  at  him  incredulously,  but  his  face 
flushed  with  shame. 

"  I  dared  not  interfere,"  Robert  ended,  with  sad 
sincerity. 

Alan  drew  a  quick  breath ;  then  he  caught  his 
friend's  hands  in  his  own,  his  voice  breaking  as  he 
spoke.  "  Forgive  me,  Steele,"  he  said. 


IX. 

OF  course,  when  they  reached  home,  they  talked 
it  all  over.  "  Suicide  is  another  name  for  insanity, 
Bob,"  the  doctor  declared.  "  To  my  mind,  we  have 
as  much  right  to  try  to  save  such  a  person  as  to 
treat  a  man  with  a  fever."  But  Robert  insisted 
that  no  one  had  a  right  to  say  that  weariness  of  life 
was  insanity. 

"  What  about  the  right  and  wrong  of  it  ?  "  Alan 
questioned. 

"  It  is  a  sin,"  the  other  admitted. 

"  Then,"  said  Alan,  "  according  to  your  theory, 
one  may  only  use  example  and  precept,  but  not  in 
terfere  with  force  to  prevent  crime  ?  " 

"If  it  injures  no  one  but  the  sinner,  I  should  not 
interfere ;  but  there  are  few  crimes  which  do  not  in 
jure  others  than  the  criminal.  For' instance,  if  the 
community  did  not  see  it,  and  no  one  could  be  con 
taminated  by  his  example,  I  should  not  feel  justified 
in  preventing  a  man  by  force  from  shameless  drunk 
enness.  Otherwise,  I  should  prevent  him.  With 
suicide,  only  the  principal  and  his  God  are  con 
cerned." 

"  Stuff !  "  cried  Alan,  with  wholesome  common- 
sense.  "  It  depresses  the  community  ;  and,  by 
Jove  !  it 's  given  my  heart  a  knock  that  takes  a  year 
off  my  life.  I  don't  believe  any  act  can  be  confined 


SIDNEY.  129 

in  its  consequences  to  the  principal.  There  is  al 
ways  the  example." 

But  Robert  would  not  grant  that. 

"  Bob,"  said  the  doctor,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  head  and  a  cigar  between  his  lips,  "  I  give  you  up, 
—  I  can't  follow  you  ;  and  in  the  matter  of  this  poor 
soul,  you  may  be  right,  —  you  may  be  right.  But  I 
never  should  have  had  the  courage  to  let  her  drown !  " 

Robert  shook  his  head.  "  I  cannot  seem  to  see 
the  point,"  he  said  after  a  while,  sadly,  "  at  which 
what  is  theoretically  right  begins  to  be  practically 
wrong.  I  tell  you,  Alan,  I  understand  the  comfort 
of  making  somebody  else  your  conscience.  That  is 
the  peace  of  the  Catholic  Church." 

"  Stuff !  "  cried  Alan  again,  good-naturedly. 

When  Robert  went  back  to  the  major's,  that  even 
ing,  he  was  very  silent.  "Very  sad,"  Miss  Sally 
thought,  touched,  and  filled  with  self-reproaches  for 
her  uncertainty. 

She  had  been  trying  all  day  to  make  up  her  mind, 
but  to  see  him  now,  unhappy  —  and  about  her ! 
She  must  decide.  She  grew  more  shy,-  and  scarcely 
spoke,  so  that  Robert  almost  forgot  her  presence. 
It  was  recalled  to  him,  however,  when,  with  a  curious 
mixture  of  humiliation  and  justice,  he  mentioned  at 
the  tea-table  what  Alan  had  done  that  afternoon. 
Even  before  her  pity  for  the  "  poor  thing  "  and  pride 
in  Alan  could  be  put  into  words,  Miss  Sally's  thought 
of  Robert  sprang  to  her  lips.  uOh,  I  am  so  glad 
you  did  n't  do  it,"  she  said  ;  "  you  might  have  taken 
cold !  "  There  was  a  half  sob  in  her  voice,  and  an 
instant  resolution  to  "  ask  Mortimer  "  at  once.  For 


130  SIDNEY. 

the  first  time  since  he  had  been  her  patient,  Robert 
did  not  find  Miss  Sally's  solicitude  sweet. 

Mr.  Steele  was  to  go  away  the  next  day,  and 
although  Miss  Sally  was  inclined  to  be  sentimental 
in  the  silence  of  her  heart,  she  knew,  vaguely,  that 
she  should  feel  a  curious  kind  of  relief  when  the 
excitement  of  his  presence  was  withdrawn,  —  an  ex 
citement  felt  only  since  he  had  declared  himself  her 
lover. 

"  May  I  come  to-morrow,  Miss  Sally  ? "  he  said 
meaningly,  when  in  the  morning  he  bade  her  good- 
by ;  and  she,  remembering  his  low-spiritedness  of 
the  night  before,  could  only  reply,  trembling,  "  Yes, 
please." 

It  was  not,  however,  until  the  evening  of  that  day 
that  she  summoned  courage  to  ask  her  brother's  con 
sent  to  Mr.  Steele's  proposal.  The  necessity  of  hav 
ing  some  sort  of  an  answer  ready  for  her  lover,  drove 
her  to  the  library  door. 

She  had  waited  in  her  bedroom,  growing  momen 
tarily  more  chilly  and  more  timid,  until  she  had 
heard  Sidney]s  door  close,  and  knew  that  her  brother 
was  alone.  Then  she  went  out  into  the  upper  hall 
and  looked  over  the  stair-rail,  to  see  that  no  one  was 
wandering  about  below.  She  felt  her  heart  pound 
ing  in  her  throat,  and  her  small  hands  clasped  them 
selves  nervously  together.  All  was  quiet ;  there  was 
only  the  faint  crackle  of  the  fire  in  the  parlor,  which 
still  sent  a  dull  glow  out  into  the  darkness  of  the 
hall.  It  took  her  many  minutes  to  go  down  the 
wide  staircase,  but  the  very  effort  made  something 
which  had  a  likeness  to  love  stir  in  her  heart. 


SIDNEY.  131 

Major  Lee,  writing  at  the  square  table  in  the 
room  beyond  the  library,  looked  up  with  surprise  as 
his  sister  entered.  He  even  put  on  his  glasses  for  a 
moment,  with  a  keen  glance  at  the  agitation  in  her 
face. 

"  Mortimer,"  began  Miss  Sally,  "  may  I  have  a 
few  words  —  a  short  conversation  with  you  ?  "  Only 
Kobert  Steele  had  seen  the  pathos  of  Miss  Sally's 
unfailing  effort  to  "  express  herself  well  "  when  talk 
ing  to  her  brother. 

"Pray  sit  down,  Sarah,"  said  the  major,  with 
grave  politeness.  "  I  trust  nothing  has  troubled 
you?" 

"I  am  sure  you  are  very  good,"  Miss  Sally 
answered.  She  was  so  silent  after  that  one  speech, 
and  her  agitation  was  so  apparent,  that  the  major 
looked  at  her  with  sudden  alarm. 

"  Is  there  anything  wrong  with  Sidney  ?  "  he  asked 
sharply,  half  rising  from  his  chair. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  no !  "  said  Miss  Sally,  relieved  to 
have  something  to  say  ;  then  she  coughed  a  little, 
and  gazed  intently  at  the  small,  scuffed  toe  of  her 
slipper.  "  I  merely  wished  to  say  —  to  observe,  at 
least  —  don't  you  think,  Mortimer,  that  there  has 
been  a  good  deal  of  snow  this  winter?" 

The  major  did  not  smile.  This  was  probably  his 
sister's  way  of  leading  up  to  the  needs  of  the  coal 
bin ;  poor  Sarah  had  a  somewhat  tiresome  habit  of 
coming  to  the  point  sidewise.  She  seemed  to  the 
major  like  a  little  hurrying  sail-boat,  which  yet 
tacked  and  tacked,  in  an  endless  zigzag,  before 
reaching  its  destination  ;  especially  when  she  wished 


132  SIDNEY. 

to  make  a  request  was  there  this  rather  foolish  hes 
itation. 

But  Major  Lee's  unfailing  courtesy  forbade  that 
he  should  hurry  his  sister,  so  he  only  replied,  "  Yes, 
a  great  deal ;  and  the  skies  are  overcast,  so  that  it 
is  probable  there  will  be  more  before  daybreak." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Sally,  "very  true,"  and  then 
lapsed  into  silence. 

Major  Lee's  habit  of  refusing  to  be  interested 
spared  him  much.  He  did  not  urge  her  to  pro 
ceed.  He  sat  brooding  and  dreaming  before  the 
fire ;  whatever  she  had  to  say,  good  or  bad,  would 
come  soon  enough  without  a  question  from  him. 
It  did  not  concern  Sidney;  that  was  all  he  cared 
to  know. 

"  Mortimer,"  she  began,  and  stopped  to  cough  be 
hind  her  hand,  "I  —  I  think  it  is  wonderful  how 
well  Mrs.  Paul  keeps ;  it  is  really  remarkable  for  a 
woman  of  her  age." 

This  needed  no  reply.  The  major,  gazing  at  the 
fire,  his  chin  resting  on  his  breast,  was  twisting, 
absently,  the  thin  gold  ring  upon  his  left  hand. 

"  What  a  pity  Annette  did  not  live  to  cheer  her  !  " 
Miss  Sally  commented.  "  Only,  perhaps  she  would 
have  married,  and  left  her  mother.  Most  young 
women  do." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  major,  noticing  only  the  pause 
for  his  reply. 

"Don't  —  don't  you  think  they  do,  Mortimer? 
Don't  you  think  most  women  marry  —  more  than 
men  do?" 

He  smiled.     "  I  should  think  it  was  about  equal." 


SIDNEY.  133 

"  But  women,"  Miss  Sally  explained,  "  generally, 
expect  to  be  married.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"I  suppose,"  the  major  admitted,  with  a  polite 
ness  that  might  have  softened  his  words  even  to  a 
more  sensitive  hearer,  "  that  they  are  generally  less 
intelligent  than  men." 

Miss  Sally  did  not  see  the  connection,  but  she  was 
too  intent  upon  her  subject  to  seek  an  explanation. 
"  I  know,  Mortimer,"  she  said,  "  that  you  think  mar 
riage  is  a  mistake,  but  —  but  I  can't  help  thinking 
Annette  might  have  been  happier  married." 

Her  brother  made  no  comment. 

"  And  oh,  dear  me,  if  somebody  had  been  living 
in  the  same  house  with  her,  and  —  and  cared  for  her, 
you  could  n't  really  blame  her  ?  " 

"  Pity,  Sarah,  —  pity.  One  does  not  blame  a 
child." 

"  And  if  he  cared,  oh,  very  much,"  —  Miss  Sally 
was  too  earnest  to  pause  —  "  and  would  be  unhappy 
if  she  —  did  n't  —  why,  then  —  and  oh,  Mortimer,  I 
do  respect  him  !  "  The  major  put  on  his  glasses  and 
looked  at  her  in  sudden  astonishment.  This  emotion 
was  not  because  of  Mrs.  Paul's  dead  daughter.  He 
was  interested,  but  vaguely  alarmed.  "  You  see," 
she  proceeded  tremulously,  "  he  has  been  with  us 
for  nearly  two  months  now ;  long  enough  for  any 
body  to  learn  to  like  him.  And  when  he  told  me  — 
oh,  Mortimer,  I  was  so  surprised  I  didn't  know 
what  to  say !  Nobody  knows  it,  of  course ;  not  even 
Sidney." 

Miss  Sally's  fright  had  made  her  eyes  overflow,  so 
that  she  did  not  see  the  flush  on  Major  Lee's  face. 


134  SIDNEY. 

"  What !  "  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  But  you  say- 
Sidney  does  not  know  it  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  in  a  bewildered  way.  "  No, 
no ;  it  did  n't  seem  proper  to  tell  her." 

Major  Lee  had  risen,  in  his  alarm  and  indigna 
tion.  "  Certainly  not ;  but  are  you  sure  that  he  has 
not  told  her?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed,"  answered  Miss  Sally.  "  He 
would  n't  say  a  word  until  —  until  I  said  he  might. 
And  if  you  are  not  willing  that  I  .should  accept  him, 
Sidney  need  never  know  it." 

"  Sarah,"  he  said,  after  an  empty  moment  of  as 
tonishment,  "  I  thought  he  spoke  of  —  her  ?  " 

"  Sidney  ?  "  she  repeated  vaguely.  "  Oh,  no  ;  it 's 
only  me." 

Major  Lee  turned  sharply  away,  and  walked  the 
length  of  the  room  and  back  before  he  could  trust 
himself  to  speak.  Miss  Sally  had  risen,  and  stood 
watching  him.  Her  brother's  relief  did  not  hurt 
her  ;  it  was  only  natural.  "  Sarah,"  he  said,  coming 
back  to  her,  "  I  fear  I  was  abrupt.  Pray  sit  down. 
I  am  distressed  that  you  should  have  been  annoyed 
by  this  young  man.  I  have  been  neglectful,  or  such 
a  thing  could  not  have  come  about.  I  will  see  him 
to-morrow." 

"  You  —  you  are  so  kind,  dear  brother,"  Miss 
Sally  answered,  trembling  very  much,  and  with  a 
look  of  the  keenest  perplexity  on  her  face. 

"  I  am  much  disappointed,"  the  major  began 
sternly.  "  The  young  man  was  my  guest.  It  had 
not  struck  me  that  it  was  necessary  to  protect  my 
household  from  possible  annoyance.  I  must  beg 
your  pardon,  Sarah." 


SIDNEY.  135 

Miss  Sally  twisted  her  fingers  together  and 
breathed  quickly.  "  But,  Mortimer,  I  thought  —  I 
thought  perhaps  you  would  be  willing  for  me  to  live 
here,  so  that  I  could  still  take  care  of  you  and  Sid 
ney?" 

It  was  a  long  time  since  Mortimer  Lee  had  expe 
rienced  such  successive  shocks  of  emotion.  He 
looked  at  her  a  moment  in  silence  ;  then  he  said, 
"Do  I  understand,  Sarah,  that  it  is  your  wish  to 
accept  Mr.  Steele  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,  dear  Mortimer,"  she  answered 
faintly. 

Again  the  major  walked  away  from  her  and  back 
before  he  spoke.  "  Sally,  of  course  you  shall  do  as 
you  wish,  but  —  I  am  sorry." 

She  looked  at  him  furtively.  His  voice  was  so 
gentle  that  she  realized  vaguely  the  thought  behind 
his  words,  and  yet  it  eluded  her  as  she  tried  to  speak. 
"I  —  I  'm  sure  he  is  a  good  man,  Mortimer.  You 
don't  disapprove  of  him,  brother,  do  you  ?  I  'm 
sure  he  will  do  anything  you  wish,  —  only  he  seemed 
to  want  me,  Mortimer  ?  "  The  major  smiled.  "  I 
know,"  proceeded  Miss  Sally,  the  words  fluttering 
upon  her  lips,  "  that  you  think  it 's  a  mistake  to  — 
to  care  ;  but  I  've  never  been  afraid  of  sorrow." 

"  Have  you  ever  known  any  joy  ?  "  he  said.  "  But 
I  wonder  if  you  can  know  joy,  —  I  wonder  if  you 
can  love."  He  looked  at  her  with  sad  intensity. 
"  Do  you  love  him,  Sally  ?  " 

His  sister's  face  flushed  from  her  little  chin  to 
the  smooth  line  of  her  hair.  "I  —  I  have  a  regard 
for  Mr.  Steele,"  she  said. 


136  SIDNEY. 

The  major  threw  himself  down  into  his  chair. 
"  You  are  safe.  You  might  as  well  marry  him. 
And  I  suppose  he  has  a  regard  for  you  ?  Well,  that 
is  as  it  should  be.  Never  cease  to  have  a  regard  for 
him,  my  dear,  and  you  need  not  fear  the  future." 

Miss  Sally  saw  that  he  was  amused  by  something, 
and  she  smiled,  but  with  a  wistful  tremor  of  her 
lips.  "You  are  willing,  Mortimer?" 

He  did  not  reply  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said,  "  I 
see  no  reason  to  object.  I  hope  you  will  not  be  too 
happy,  but  I  think  there  is  no  danger,  at  least  for 
you."  Mortimer  Lee  would  not  permit  himself  to 
think  that  Miss  Sally  could  not  inspire  profound 
love.  He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to  the  door. 
44  Good-night,  Sally,"  he  said ;  and  then,  taking  her 
face  between  his  hands,  he  gently  kissed  her  fore 
head. 

The  fire  burned  low  before  he  left  it  that  night, 
and  the  wind,  rumbling  in  the  upper  chimney,  scat 
tered  the  white  ashes  out  upon  the  hearth. 


WHEN  Kobert  saw  Miss  Sally  next,  the  mists  o£ 
wonder  about  his  motives  had  been  cleared  away  by 
a  sharp  reality.  He  found,  when  he  reached  home, 
that  Alan  had  been  very  ill  the  night  before. 

That  plunge  into  the  river  was  a  great  strain  upon 
a  heart  already  weak,  and  during  the  long  midnight, 
alone,  the  doctor  wondered,  solemnly,  whether  he 
might  not  die  before  morning.  The  next  day  he  was 
weak  and  still  suffering  a  little,  but,  as  he  expressed 
it,  "  all  right ;  "  yet  there  was  a  dusky  pallor  in  his 
face  which  terrified  Robert,  and  made  him  forget 
his  own  perplexities.  True,  this  illness  had  been 
because  Alan  had  done  what  he  had  refused  to  do, 
but  his  passionate  tenderness  for  his  friend  forbade 
even  so  much  self-consciousness  as  that.  He  watched 
the  doctor,  with  a  comprehension  of  his  smallest 
wish  which  was  like  a  woman's  ;  it  was  so  intent,  so 
absorbing,  that  he  almost  forgot  Miss  Sally  and  his 
anticipated  happiness.  He  was,  however,  reminded 
of  both.  They  had  been  talking  again  of  that  con 
flict  on  the  bridge.  "  Steele,"  Alan  said,  "  I  thought 
it  all  out  last  night.  You  were  right,  from  your 
point  of  view ;  and  it  has  taught  me  a  lesson,  it  has 
revealed  the  smallness  of  my  imagination  to  me. 


138  SIDNEY. 

After  this,  I  shall  approve  of  everything  you  do,  on 
principle.  If  you  murder  your  grandmother,"  — 
Robert  winced,  and  Alan  swore  at  himself  under  his 
breath,  —  "I  shall  know  it  was  from  a  lofty  motive." 
The  doctor  felt  so  keenly  that  his  simile  had  been 
unfortunate  that  he  made  haste  to  talk  of  something 
else.  "  See  here,  what  made  you  so  fierce  to  me 
yesterday,  when  I  spoke  of  Miss  Sally  ?  I  don't  think 
I  deserved  it." 

Eobert  had  been  sitting  at  the  foot  of  Alan's  sofa, 
but  at  that  he  rose  and  began  to  walk  about  the 
room,  steering  his  way  among  chairs,  and  tables  lit 
tered  with  books  and  papers.  "  What  a  room !  " 
he  said.  There  were  two  stands  which  held  chem 
icals  and  retorts ;  and  there  was  a  music  rack,  and 
an  easel  with  mahl-sticks  crossed  in  front  of  an  un 
finished  canvas.  "  You  are  a  disorderly  beggar, 
Alan  !  "  he  declared. 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  keenly.  "  She  's  good, 
but  not  what  you  'd  call  brilliant,  and  you  know 
perfectly  well  that  I  did  not  mean  any  disrespect. 
She 's  been  a  first-rate  nurse  for  you,  Bob,  but 
scarcely  a  companion,  I  fancy  ? "  Alan  was  very 
serious.  "  Is  it  possible  ?  "  he  was  asking  himself. 

Robert  stood  still.  "  1  have  never  known,"  he 
said  slowly,  "  a  wiser  or  a  kinder  companion.  I  am 
a  better  man,  Alan,  for  this  visit  to  Major  Lee's." 
Had  he  had  the  right,  with  the  rush  of  memory 
which  came  at  Alan's  mention  of  her  name,  how 
much  more  he  might  have  said,  how  he  would  have 
gloried  in  saying  it !  With  a  backward  shake  of  his 
head  he  tossed  the  soft  hair  away  from  his  forehead, 


SIDNEY.  139 

and  his  eyes  brightened ;  the  happiness  in  them  was 
unmistakable. 

"  Great  heavens  !  "  Alan  said  to  himself,  when,  a 
little  later,  he  was  alone.  In  his  amazement  he  sat 
up,  letting  his  bearskin  cover  fall  on  the  floor ;  he 
leaned  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  whistled ;  then, 
involuntarily,  laughed.  "  Jove  !  what  will  Mrs.  Paul 
say?" 

The  next  day,  Robert  went  hopefully  for  his  an 
swer.  Miss  Sally,  trembling  and  blushing,  was 
awaiting  him  in  the  library.  In  one  word  she  told 
him  she  would  marry  him,  and  then  left  him  to  the 
grave  and  puzzled  greetings  of  her  brother. 

The  major's  view  of  the  sadness  of  love  might 
have  found  words  had  Robert  aspired  to  any  one 
save  Mortimer  Lee's  own  sister;  but  instinct  was 
stronger  than  reason,  and  he  only  said,  "You  are 
probably  not  aware  that  the  marriage  of  a  friend  is 
always  a  matter  of  regret  to  me.  I  cannot  there 
fore  contemplate  my  sister's  marriage  with  satisfac 
tion.  Nevertheless,  you  and  she  must  make  your  own 
judgments.  I  hope  you  will  not  be  unhappy." 

What  congratulations  !  Robert  stumbled  over  his 
awkward  thanks,  and  was  grateful  that  the  major, 
with  a  courteous  excuse,  withdrew  to  the  study, 
and  left  him  to  find  his  way  back  to  the  parlor 
and  Miss  Sally ;  but  there  he  forgot  all  but  his 
thankfulness. 

They  had  a  long  and  happy  talk  together.  How 
Miss  Sally  beamed  and  brightened  !  The  flattery  of 
her  joy  intoxicated  him  with  confidence  in  himself. 
He  was  full  of  plans  ;  she  should  tell  him  how  she 


140  SIDNEY. 

wished  the  money  —  "  her  money,"  he  called  it  —  to 
be  spent,  and  what  would  make  her  happiest  to  do. 
Should  they  travel?  Would  she  like  to  build? 
Such  deference  took  Miss  Sally's  breath  away,  and 
frightened  her  a  little,  too. 

"  I  thought  we  could  live  here  ?  "  she  faltered  ; 
"  the  house  is  so  big,  and,  you  see,  I  must  always 
take  care  of  Mortimer  and  Sidney." 

Robert  was  too  happy  to  be  startled  by  this  sug 
gestion.  He  laughed  and  shook  his  head,  and  said 
she  would  have  enough  to  do  to  take  care  of  him, 
and  talked  with  eager  haste  of  his  gratitude  and 
joy.  Miss  Sally  did  not  know  how  to  speak ;  she 
looked  at  him  with  overflowing  eyes,  but  he  made 
her  silences  eloquent  by  saying  to  himself  that  her 
sympathy  and  understanding  were  perfect.  The 
possibilities  of  silence  are  the  materials  from  which 
Love  builds  her  most  stately  palaces  ! 

The  light  in  Robert's  eyes  flickered  for  an  instant, 
as  though  a  cold  wind  had  blown  across  this  new 
fire  in  his  heart,  when,  answering  his  passionate 
declaration  that  she  had  saved  him  from  that  old 
horror  of  weakness  (he  felt  himself  saved  now ; 
the  future  struggle  was  nothing,  if  her  hand  were  in 
his),  Miss  Sally  said,  with  quick,  uncomprehending 
pity,  "  Oh,  never  mind  that ;  you  were  sick,  —  that 
was  all.  I  never  think  of  it." 

Never  think  of  it !  All  the  bitter  months  rose 
before  him,  all  the  wasted  opportunities,  all  the  self- 
contempt  which  she  had  turned  to  aspiration.  Rob 
ert  seemed  to  find  a  violent  silence  opposing  his  im 
petuous  words.  He  did  not  stay  much  longer.  "  I 


SIDNEY.  141 

want,"  he  declared,  "  to  tell  Alan,  and  to  proclaim 
my  happiness  upon  the  housetops,  Miss  Sally !  " 
He  suddenly  realized  that  it  was  impossible  to  say 
anything  but  "  Miss  Sally,"  and  to  ask  himself  pain 
fully,  "Why?" 

For  her  part,  she  said,  "  Good-by,  Mr.  Steele," 
with  a  little  blush  and  a  half-courtesy  which  went  to 
his  heart.  There  was  a  solemn  moment  in  Robert's 
soul,  when,  with  intense  consciousness  of  what  he 
was  doing,  he  kissed  her.  "  Just  the  way  Mortimer 
did !  "  she  thought,  as,  with  a  candle  in  her  hand, 
she  stood  that  night  peering  into  the  looking-glass,  al 
most  as  though  she  expected  to  see  some  mark  upon 
her  forehead.  Kisses  were  rare  things  in  Miss  Sally's 
life  ;  she,  to  be  sure,  kissed  Sidney  night  and  morn 
ing,  but  that  any  one  should  deliberately  kiss  her! 
As  she  stared  at  her  small,  old  face  in  the  depths  of 
the  mirror,  where  the  candle's  shifting  light  gleamed 
on  a  silver  thread  in  her  hair,  she  felt  that  she  could 
never  be  quite  the  same  again.  Happier  ?  Oh,  yes, 
happier,  —  but  how  strange  it  all  seemed,  how  excit 
ing  !  —  and  she  sighed. 

As  for  Robert  Steele,  when  he  left  her,  it  was 
with  a  little  uncertainty  as  to  his  destination.  It 
was  strange,  but  he  had  no  desire  to  go  at  once  to 
Alan.  Instead,  in  an  aimless  way,  he  wandered  out 
into  the  country,  stopping  for  a  shuddering  instant 
at  that  spot  upon  the  bridge  where  he  had  suffered. 

It  must  have  been  two  hours  later  that  he  went, 
towards  dusk,  to  Katherine  Townsend's,  and  told 
her  that  he  was  the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  Her 
start  of  surprise,  almost  of  consternation,  as  he 


142  SIDNEY. 

named  Miss  Sally  Lee,  lie  could  not  at  once  forget, 
although  she  made  haste  to  congratulate  him  in  that 
cordial  manner  which  means  consideration  rather 
than  sincerity. 

"  I  've  heard  Mr.  Paul  speak  of  her,  and  I  Ve 
seen  her  at  church ;  she  's  a  saint,  cousin  Robert,  and 
I  am  so  glad  for  you." 

He  brightened  under  her  interest,  and  realized 
how  thankful  he  was  for  the  blessing  of  Miss  Sally's 
love.  "  I  don't  deserve  it,"  he  said,  "  but  Kate,  I  'm 
going  to  try  to." 

"  I  know  you  will !  "  she  cried,  putting  her  hands 
in  his,  and  looking  at  him  with  such  understanding 
in  her  face  that  he  said  quickly,  "  God  bless  you, 
Kitty!" 

When  he  went  away,  there  was  a  mist  of  tears  in 
Katherine  Townsend's  frank  eyes.  "Poor  cousin 
Robert !  "  she  said,  but  she  did  not  ask  herself  why 
she  pitied  him.  She  was  in  that  mood  where  one 
sympathizes  with  one's  self,  under  the  pretense  of 
sympathizing  with  some  one  else.  She  had  been  less 
happy  since  that  walk  with  John  Paul  to  the  birch 
woods.  "  I  told  him  only  the  truth,"  she  assured 
herself,  "  and  of  course  he  did  n't  like  it,  but  I  can't 
help  that ;  I  am  glad  I  did  it."  Yet  it  seemed  that 
this  assertion  needed  frequent  repetition  ;  "  I  was  too 
severe,"  she  began  to  say  ;  and  after  a  while,  "  It  is 
all  over.  At  least,  there  was  never  anything,  but 
now  I  know  there  never  will  be.  Well,  I  'm  glad  I 
did  it."  It  was  at  this  time  that  Ted  observed,  one 
evening  at  tea,  that  Kitty  looked  just  as  if  —  she  'd 
been  crying ! 


SIDNEY.  143 

These  reflections  of  hers  were  not  caused  by  any 
diminution  of  friendship  on  the  part  of  John  Paul, 
although  he  came  to  Ked  Lane  less  often  than  former 
ly.  He  still  brought  jackknives  and  carpenter  outfits 
with  him.  In  fact,  he  paid  Ted  far  more  attention 
than  he  did  Ted's  sister.  He  told  Miss  Townsend, 
with  the  gladdest  anticipation,  that  he  had  gone  to 
the  great  city  of  the  State  to  examine  into  the  busi 
ness  of  a  newspaper  —  a  free -trade  journal,  of 
course  —  with  which  he  hoped  to  connect  himself. 
It  would  mean  leaving  Mercer,  but  he  did  not  seem 
to  be  unhappy  at  that. 

These  were  bright  days  to  John  Paul.  That  bit 
ter  talk  on  the  Perryville  Eoad  had  told  him  much ; 
he  dared  to  hope  now  with  all  his  heart ;  yet,  he 
said  to  himself,  he  must  try  to  grow  more  worthy  of 
her  before  he  should  ask  Katherine  to  make  his 
hope  a  reality.  He  began  to  "  answer  back,"  as 
Davids  expressed  it,  at  the  tea-table  or  at  the  check 
er-board.  Not  very  often,  to  be  sure,  and  not  very 
successfully ;  the  attempt  to  break  a  habit  of  years 
is  necessarily  experimental.  At  this  time,  he  was 
cordial  to  everybody  ;  even  to  Mr.  Steele,  whom  he 
overtook  coming  home  from  that  call  upon  Katherine 
Townsend  which  had  announced  his  engagement. 
Alan  had  been  right  in  saying  that  John  Paul  was 
incapable  of  appreciating  Robert.  Still,  one's  own 
happiness  goes  far  in  blotting  out  the  mistakes  of 
others  ;  so  on  this  occasion  he  was  willing  to  slacken 
his  pace,  and  the  two  men  walked  on  together.  Mr. 
Steele  was  too  tired  to  talk  much,  which  made  his 
companion  think  that  the  fellow  was  really  pleasanter 


144  SIDNEY. 

than  usual ;  but  when  they  reached  the  dreadful 
place  on  the  bridge,  Robert  could  not  pass  it  with 
out  saying  how  Alan  had  risked  his  life  there.  He 
told  the  story  heartily,  but  he  did  not  speak  of  him 
self.  He  could  not  have  displayed  the  confusion  of 
his  soul  to  John  Paul,  whose  brief  and  downright 
expressions  of  opinion  always  repelled  the  man  whose 
mind  moved  in  subtle  and  inverted  lines. 

John  was  enthusiastic.  "  The  boy  has  something 
to  him !  It  was  splendidly  brave  in  him.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

"  It  was  human,"  Robert  said,  after  a  moment's 
pause. 

u  How  do  you  mean  ?  It  was  superb  !  Ice  in  the 
river,  and  such  a  current  as  these  thaws  make !  " 

"  I  mean  that  it  was  instinct,"  Robert  answered 
reluctantly ;  he  knew  it  must  appear  to  Paul  that  he 
was  cheapening  his  friend's  action.  "Alan  is  su 
perb,  but  an  act  like  that,  instantaneous,  without 
reason,  can  scarcely  be  called  brave,  it  seems  to  me. 
Alan  does  brave  things  always ;  he  is  the  truest  man 
I  know." 

"  Well,"  John  said  coldly,  "  I  suppose  we  look  at 
it  differently.  For  my  part,  I  'm  proud  of  him." 

"  Oh,  so  am  I,"  Robert  Steele  protested  ;  but  his 
companion  did  not  pursue  the  subject. 

It  was  not  an  opportune  moment,  but  they  had 
nearly  reached  the  stone  steps  that  led  up  the  ter 
races  to  Mrs.  Paul's  house,  and  Robert  would  not 
lose  this  chance.  "  Mr.  Paul,"  he  began,  aware  of 
an  effort  to  make  his  tone  match  the  gladness  of  his 
words,  —  "I  —  I  am  to  be  congratulated !  I  have 
become  engaged  to  be  married." 


SIDNEY.  145 

John  stared  at  him.  "  Well,  you  are  the  most 
dejected-looking  subject  for  congratulations,  but  it 's 
a  good  thing,  I  'm  sure."  He  sighed  enviously,  and 
then  laughed  in  a  short,  good-natured  way.  "So 
living  in  the  major's  household  has  not  demoralized 
you  ?  I  suppose  Miss  Sally's  ministrations  have 
made  you  feel  you  had  better  get  a  wife ;  she  is  the 
kindest-hearted  little  creature  in  the  world  when 
anybody  is  under  the  weather,  even  if  she  hasn't 
much  sense." 

After  that  remark,  Eobert  Steele  thanked  Heaven 
that  some  one  stopped  to  speak  to  John,  and  pre 
vented  the  inevitable  question,  "Who  is  she?" 

John  Paul,  however,  was  so  much  interested  in 
this  curious  news  —  he  always  thought  of  Robert  as 
"  that  queer  fellow  "  — that  he  actually  became  com 
municative,  and  mentioned  it,  of  course  in  the  brief 
est  way,  to  his  mother ;  but  that  he  should  talk  of 
his  own  accord  surprised  her  into  momentary  amia 
bility. 

"  You  say  he  's  engaged  ?  Now  why  in  the  world 
don't  you  tell  me  such  things  of tener  ?  You  know 
how  I  like  a  piece  of  news." 

"  Does  n't  happen  every  day,"  John  observed. 

"  Well,  to  whom,  —  to  whom  ?  Sidney  ?  "  They 
were  sitting  at  the  tea-table,  and  Mrs.  Paul  rapped 
the  bare  mahogany  with  her  stick,  to  hasten  his  re 
ply.  But  he  only  shook  his  head.  "  Don't  know  ? 
Why,  you  must  know  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
did  n't  ask?" 

John  was  really  abashed.  "  Somebody  interrupted 
us  just  then,"  he  explained,  wrinkling  his  forehead. 


146  SIDNEY. 

"  Well,"  Mrs.  Paul  said,  "really!  "  Sometimes 
stupidity  is  too  great  for  reproach.  "  Whom  do  you 
think  it  is?  Or  perhaps  you  don't  think?  That  is 
one  thing  you've  never  been  accused  of,  Johnny. 
Lord  !  have  n't  you  any  idea  ?  It  must  be  Sidney. 
I  '11  wager  it  is.  How  stupid  in  you,  Johnny,  not 
to  have  thought  of  her  I  Yet  I  never  should  have 
guessed  it  from  her  manner  to-day/' 

John  Paul  looked  startled  ;  he  had  not  thought 
of  Sidney,  —  that  was  true.  But  perhaps  it  was 
she  ;  yes,  very  likely.  He  hoped  so,  he  said  to  him 
self  ;  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  the  girl ;  she 
would  be  saved  from  her  unnatural  life.  "  But  I 
wish  he  were  a  bigger  fellow,"  he  thought. 

Mrs.  Paul  was  radiant.  "  Scarlett,"  she  said, 
when  she  took  the  woman's  arm  to  go  into  the  draw 
ing-room,  "  I  do  hope  it  has  turned  out  as  I  wished 
about  Miss  Lee !  "  The  hope  began  to  be  a  cer 
tainty  before  long,  and  when  she  called  for  the 
checker-board  she  nodded  to  herself  once  or  twice, 
her  lips  pressed  exultingly  together,  and  her  mind 
so  full  of  plans  that  she  forgot  to  criticise  her  son's 
moves. 

"  If  it 's  true,"  she  declared,  "  I  '11  give  her  a 
check  on  her  wedding  morning  that  will  make  Mor 
timer  Lee  open  his  eyes !  " 

"  She  11  need  it  more  if  it  is  n't  true,"  John  ob 
served.  The  clock  was  almost  on  the  stroke  of 
nine,  and  it  was  his  habit  to  say  good-night  then,  so 
he  knew  he  could  escape  any  railing  such  a  remark 
might  provoke.  But  Mrs.  Paul  was  too  amiable  to 
rail. 


SIDNEY.  147 

"  Well,  she  won't  get  it !  I  don't  propose  to  give 
my  money  to  any  silly  person  ;  just  remember  that, 
Johnny."  She  was  so  intent  upon  her  pleasant 
thoughts  that  she  almost  forgot  it  was  her  son  to 
whom  she  spoke,  and  smiled  at  him  with  that  arch 
look  which  still  flashed  sometimes  from  her  faded 
eyes.  "  If  Sidney  marries  well,  I  '11  make  it  my 
business  to  see  that  she  does  n't  go  to  her  husband 
empty-handed.  I  shall  tell  Mortimer  Lee  so.  I 
want  to  see  Mortimer  Lee.  I  want  to  find  out 
whether  I  'm  right.  I  know  I  am  !  Johnny,  just 
fetch  the  writing-table  here." 

John  made  no  comment ;  if  his  mother  chose  to 
let  her  curiosity  hurry  her  into  such  a  thing,  it  was 
her  affair.  From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  Miss 
Katherine  Town  send  had  yet  something  to  achieve. 
He  lifted  the  table  to  Mrs.  Paul's  side,  and  although 
the  brass  handles  of  the  drawers  rattled  upon  their 
square  plates,  she  did  not  reprove  him.  She  was 
flushed  with  interest. 

"  Fetch  a  lamp,"  she  cried,  "  and  open  that  little 
box  for  the  wax  and  taper  !  I  shall  ask  him  to 
come  here  at  once,  —  to-morrow.  And  I  don't 
want  you  about,  Johnny  ;  this  is  not  a  thing  to  be 
discussed  before  you.  I  shall  ask  him  to  take  tea 
with  the  others  Thursday  night.  I  've  decided  to 
ask  the  people  for  Thursday  night." 

She  took  the  feathered  pen  in  her  impatient  hand, 
trying  the  nib  upon  her  thumb-nail,  and  moving  the 
lamp  a  little,  for  a  better  light  upon  her  paper. 
Then  in  her  delicate,  old-fashioned  hand  she  wrote  : 
"  Mrs.  Edward  Pau)  presents  her  compliments  to 


148  SIDNEY. 

Major  Lee,  and  begs  that  he  will  call  upon  her,  on 
a  matter  of  mutual  interest  and  importance,  on  the 
afternoon  of  Sunday,  January  the  30th,  at  any  hour 
after  four."  She  sealed  the  note  apparently  forget 
ful  that  she  had  asked  her  son  to  be  her  messenger  ; 

O  * 

and  then  John  left  her,  sitting  by  the  fire,  with  in 
terest  and  pleasure  sparkling  in  her  keen  old  face. 
But  when  he  reached  the  major's  he  almost  forgot 
the  letter  in  his  pleasure  at  seeing  Alan  Crossan. 

The  doctor  had  no  business  to  go  out,  Robert  had 
assured  him  ;  but  there  he  was,  rather  white,  and 
with  a  new  look  in  his  eyes  whenever  they  rested 
upon  Sidney. 

"  Crossan,"  John  began,  hardly  waiting  to  bid 
Sidney  good-evening,  and  looking  with  a  beaming 
face  at  Alan,  "  why  did  the  young  woman  choose 
such  vicious  weather  for  suicide  ?  " 

"  Pshaw !  "  said  the  doctor,  laughing  and  frown 
ing,  u  how  do  you  know  anything  about  it  ?  But  it 
was  the  weather  that  made  her  do  it." 

John  was  too  much  interested  to  drop  the  subject, 
and  was  full  of  praises  for  the  doctor's  courage. 

Alan  laughed,  but  with  a  sudden  determination  to 
speak  of  what  Robert  had  done,  or  rather  failed  to 
do  —  ("  it  will  come  out,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  so  I  'd 
better  put  it  in  its  right  light  at  once.)  Talk  about 
bravery !  "  he  said,  "  Steele  displayed  a  bravery  be 
yond  me.  He  didn't  jump  in." 

"  I  did  n't  know  he  was  present,"  said  John  Paul, 
stiffly,  looking  at  Sidney. 

"  How  do  you  mean,  Alan  ?  "  Sidney  asked  ;  her 
aunt  and  Mr.  Steele  were,  as  usual,  in  the  parlor 
across  the  hall. 


SIDNEY.  149 

"  Why,  he  has  a  theory,"  the  doctor  answered, 
"  that  no  one  has  a  right  to  interfere  with  a  moral 
act." 

"  Does  he  call  suicide  moral?  "  John  inquired. 

Alan  was  eager  to  explain.  "  And,  Paul,"  he 
ended,  "  surely  you  see  how  much  finer  such  hesita 
tion  was  than  mere  brute  instinct  ?  A  dog  could 
have  jumped  into  the  river  as  well  as  I,  but  only  a 
human  soul  would  long  to  save  the  woman,  and  yet 
deny  itself,  lest  it  meddled  with  infinite  issues." 

John  Paul  looked  bored.  "  I  don't  understand 
that  sort  of  thing.  If  I  were  such  a  fool  as  to  throw 
myself  into  a  river,  I  'd  dispense  with  a  human  soul 
upon  the  bank,  if  there  were  any  brute  instinct  on 
hand  to  pull  me  out." 

"  It  was  noble  !  "  Sidney  exclaimed.  And  for  a 
moment  John  thought  that  his  mother  had  been 
right  in  her  surmise  ;  but  as  he  went  on  speaking  of 
Robert,  he  was  relieved  by  the  indifference  in  her 
face. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  he  said  doggedly,  "  cold 
water  is  not  agreeable  in  any  form,  and  your 
Steele  "  — 

Alan  was  almost  angry.  "  You  have  no  idea  of 
the  struggle  !  Steele  was  wretched !  The  conflict 
of  the  higher  duty  and  the  lower  duty  is  anguish  to 
a  man  like  my  friend." 

"  Oh,  he  regretted  it  afterwards,  did  he  ?  "  (John 
was  sure  now  that  it  was  not  Sidney.)  "Pity  a 
man  can't  foresee  his  regrets." 

"  He  was  in  despair,"  Alan  said. 

"  But,"  Sidney  interposed,  "  if  he  did  not  try  to 


150  SIDNEY. 

save  the  woman  because  he  thought  he  had  no  right 
to,  he  should  not  have  despaired." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  John  asked  suddenly,  looking 
about  as  though  he  expected  to  see  Mr.  Steele. 

"  He  's  with  aunt  Sally,"  Sidney  answered. 

John  Paul's  eyes  widened.  "  Ah !  "  he  said  in 
voluntarily  ;  and  later,  as  he  lounged  home  through 
the  garden,  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  '11  let  the  major 
break  it  to  her !  " 


XL 

SIDNEY  was  the  last  one  to  know  of  her  aunt's 
engagement.  Miss  Sally  had  longed  to  tell  her,  but 
was  incapable  of  speaking  of  it  to  the  girl,  and  so 
had  gone  about  the  house  with  a  confused  and  ab 
sent  air,  which  at  last  attracted  the  attention  of  her 
niece.  But  Sidney  would  not  ask  what  the  matter 
might  be,  lest  she  should  have  to  hear  some  tale  of 
distress  about  Miss  Sally's  poor.  Nevertheless,  the 
next  morning,  it  was  a  relief  to  have  her  father  say, 
"  Sidney,  you  are  probably  unaware  that  your 
aunt "  —  He  paused ;  the  major  was  at  a  loss  for 
words  which  would  properly  express  this  extraor 
dinary  event. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  what  is  it  ?  I  know  there 
is  something." 

They  were  alone  in  the  major's  little  study ;  Miss 
Sally  and  her  lover  had  gone  to  church.  "  I  want 
to  give  thanks,"  Robert  had  said,  with  that  quiet 
happiness  which  always  shone  in  his  eyes  when  he 
was  alone  with  her.  But  Miss  Sally  felt  the  awk 
wardness  of  the  unaccustomed  in  taking  possession 
of  this  new  thing  called  happiness,  and  for  once  in 
her  life  would  rather  have  stayed  at  home.  She 
almost  envied  her  brother  and  Sidney,  reading  to 
gether  in  the  study,  with  the  pale  sunshine  streaming 
into  the  room,  and  a  green  log  singing  and  whisper- 


152  SIDNEY. 

ing  on  the  andirons.  Sidney  was  sitting  on  the  broad 
bench  in  the  window,  and  had  looked  up  in  sur 
prise  because  her  father  had  not  come  to  her  side  for 
the  word  or  two  about  her  book,  or  the  silent  resting 
of  his  hand  upon  her  head,  with  which,  as  though 
to  satisfy  himself  of  the  presence  of  his  treasure,  he 
always  began  the  day ;  instead,  he  stood  by  the 
table,  frowning  slightly  and  hesitating.  She  smiled 
and  waited,  and  then  the  astonishing  news  was  told. 

"  Oh,  father  !  "  she  said,  under  her  breath.  But 
the  incredulity  in  her  face  was  not  like  Alan's,  or 
John  Paul's,  or  even  the  major's.  That  would  be 
felt  later,  when  she  stopped  to  think  that  it  was 
Miss  Sally  to  whom  love  had  come  ;  but  for  a  mo 
ment  it  was  the  thought  of  love  itself  which  as 
tounded  her.  Love  !  "  Oh,  poor  aunt  Sally  !  " 

Major  Lee  sat  down  at  his  writing-table,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  has  done  his  duty.  He  began  to 
mend  his  pen,  and  appeared  to  forget  Miss  Sally's 
small  concerns.  "  We  shall  lose  part  of  our  after 
noon  to-day,"  he  observed ;  "  Mrs.  Paul  has  re 
quested  me  to  call  upon  her." 

"  But,  father,"  Sidney  said,  "  why  is  it?  Does  n't 
aunt  Sally  know  what  she  is  doing  ?  Oh,  father  !  " 

He  smiled  as  she  came  and  knelt  down  beside 
him,  her  face  full  of  confusion  and  wonder.  "  You 
know  what  she  thinks,"  he  explained  ;  "  with  her 
peculiar  beliefs  she  is  not  unreasonable." 

"  But,"  Sidney  protested,  all  her  young  heart  in 
her  eyes,  "we  know  her  belief  cannot  really  help 
her ;  have  n't  we  done  wrong  not  to  show  her  ?  Oh, 
he  does  not  love  her  as  —  as  I  should  think  a  per. 


SIDNEY.  153 

son  might  love,  or  else  he  would  not  try  to  teach  her 
to  love  him  !  Why  did  n't  we  save  her,  father? " 

The  major  hesitated.  "  Sarah  has  so  few  pleas 
ures  ;  her  hope  of  immortality,  and  all  that,  was  so 
much  to  her,  I  had  not  the  heart  to  take  it  from 
her ;  I  never  thought,  at  least,  it  did  not  seem  to 
me  probable,  that  she  would  wish  to  marry.  But  I 
should  have  remembered  that  Sarah  is  not  a  thought 
ful  person.  Poor  Sally ! "  The  major  had  not 
thought  so  tenderly  of  his  sister  for  years. 

Pity  for  her  aunt  made  Sidney  for  a  moment 
almost  remorseful  that,  she  had  had  a  love  to  make 
her  wise  to  escape  suffering,  and  Miss  Sally  had 
not ;  but  she  would  not  let  her  father  reproach  him 
self.  "  No,  you  were  right,  —  you  are  always  right ; " 
she  lifted  his  hand,  that  scholarly  and  delicate  right 
hand,  to  her  lips  ;  ubut —  poor  aunt  Sally." 

As  she  went  back  to  her  seat  in  the  window,  the 
major  followed  her  with  adoring  eyes,  and  then 
began  to  write  ;  absently  at  first,  though  not  because 
his  mind  was  upon  his  sister,  only  that  this  an 
nouncement  had  turned  his  thoughts  from  his  work 
to  his  daughter's  safe  and  not  unhappy  future.  Sid 
ney,  too,  dropped  the  subject,  and  opened  her  book. 
Miss  Sally,  with  her  little  hopes  and  fears,  or  sor 
rows  and  joys,  had  not  enough  personality  to  hold 
her  attention.  Yet  while  she  read,  the  mystery 
which  this  step  of  her  aunt's  suggested  burned  in 
her  heart ;  and  an  hour  afterwards,  when  the  major 
had  banished  it  all  and  was  absorbed  in  his  writing, 
she  looked  up  and  said,  "  It  is  the  certainty  of  living 
after  death  that  makes  it  possible  for  her  to  love 
him." 


154  SIDNEY. 

"  Yes,"  Major  Lee  answered  ;  "  immortality  is 
the  ignis  fatims  which  Love  creates  to  excuse  its 
own  existence." 

"  How  strange  it  is,"  she  said,  "  how  strange,  that 
people  can  blind  themselves  with  such  a  belief,  when 
every  day  they  see  that  it  cannot  separate  grief  from 
death !  But  God  ?  I  suppose  they  fall  back  upon 
their  God,  when  they  find  that  their  hope  of  heaven 
does  not  comfort  them."  She  laughed  lightly,  and 
would  have  picked  up  her  book  again,  but  the  major, 
with  a  sort  of  contemptuous  anger,  repeated  her 
word. 

"  God  !  My  darling,  you  would  find  such  persons 
very  quickly  dropping  their  belief  in  a  God  if  they 
gave  up  the  desire  for  eternal  life." 

"  Would  they  ?  "  she  asked  slowly.  "  And  yet, 
do  you  know,  that  idea  of  a  God  seems  to  me  so 
much  greater  than  just  the  hope  of  prolonged  exis 
tence.  To  have  Some  One  who  is,  who  knows,  — 
that  would  be  enough,  it  seems  to  me,  without  mak 
ing  such  a  thought  minister  to  little  human  wishes 
for  immortality.  If  one  were  sure  of  —  an  Intel 
ligence,  then,  indeed,  one  might  bear  death.  But  of 
course  it  is  foolish  to  talk  about  it." 

kt  Yes,"  her  father  answered.  "  To  limit  Force 
by  the  idea  of  personality  is  indeed  foolish." 

"  There  might  be  something  higher  than  per 
sonality,"  she  began  doubtfully. 

"What?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  her  father  smiled. 

"  It  is  unlike  you,  Sidney,  to  amuse  yourself  with 
such  reflections  ?  I  don't  believe  you  go  to  church 


SIDNEY.  155 

enough ;  you  are  idealizing  Christianity  when  you 
speculate  upon  the  personality  of  the  First  Cause. 
Go  to  church,  my  dear."  Sidney's  face  burned. 
"  Or  else,  do  not  divert  yourself  by  imagining  what 
a  difference  it  would  make  if  light,  heat,  and  elec 
tricity  should  arrange  a  heavenly  mansion  for  you." 

"  But  I  did  not  mean  a  heavenly  mansion,"  she 
said,  with  quiet  persistence,  though  her  cheeks  were 
hot.  "  Only  that  if  there  were  any  understanding 
of  life,  anywhere,  one  might  be  content." 

The  major  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  If  ?  "  And 
she  said  no  more. 

His  reproof  banished  Miss  Sally's  romance  from 
Sidney's  mind,  and  when  she  saw  her  aunt  for  a 
moment  before  dinner  she  had  forgotten  what  the 
flushed  embarrassment  of  the  little  face  meant. 
When  she  recalled  it,  she  kissed  Miss  Sally,  with  a 
hurried  look,  and  said  she  hoped  —  and  then  she 
kissed  her  again,  for  she  really  did  not  know  what 
she  hoped.  "  What  is  the  use  of  wishing  people 
happiness  when  you  know  they  will  find  only  sor 
row  ?  "  she  thought. 

Miss  Sally,  however,  did  not  attach  much  mean 
ing  to  hesitation,  and  beamed  as  she  told  Robert, 
who  fell  into  sudden  silence  at  her  words,  that  Sid 
ney  had  congratulated  her  in  such  a  pretty  way. 
She  was  wondering  if  she  ought  not  to  announce  her 
engagement  to  Mrs.  Paul,  and  trembling  at  the 
prospect,  when  the  major  said,  as  he  opened  the 
door  for  her  after  dinner,  — 

"  Sarah,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  see  that  my 
blue  coat  is  laid  out  for  me  ?  " 


156  SIDNEY. 

"Oh,  Mortimer,"  she  said,  with  sudden  inspira 
tion,  "  will  you  ?  " 

"  Will  1  ?  "  he  repeated  vaguely. 

"  I  thought,"  faltered  Miss  Sally,  "  that  perhaps 
you  were  going  to  see  Mrs.  Paul  ?  " 

Her  brother  looked  surprised.  uYes,  she  has 
sent  for  me.  I  do  not  know  why ;  possibly  to  con 
sult  me  upon  some  business  matter." 

Even  Miss  Sally  might  have  smiled  at  that  had 
she  been  less  agitated,  but  she  only  said,  "  Oh  —  yes 
—  of  course.  I  only  thought  —  maybe  you  would 
tell  her." 

"Tell  her?"  inquired  the  major,  puzzled. 

"  Yes,  about  me.  You  see  she  sent  over  a  note 
this  morning,  inviting  us  all  to  take  tea  with  her  on 
Thursday.  Perhaps  she  has  guessed,  because  she 
said  something  about  '  special  occasion,1  but  I  don't 
know,  and  I  thought  she  ought  to  be  told." 

"  Oh  —  certainly,  yes,"  said  the  major.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Sarah." 

Of  course  he  could  not  know  that  Miss  Sally  was 
full  of  tremulous  haste  for  him  to  be  off.  As  soon 
as  he  went  into  the  library  she  brought  him  his  blue 
coat  and  even  his  stick,  which  she  unconsciously 
dusted.  Then  she  went  upstairs  and  waited  in  the 
upper  hall  to  hear  him  start.  Since  Robert  Steele's 
departure  the  yellow  parlor  had  gone  back  to  its  hoi- 
land  covers  and  closed  shutters,  and  Miss  Sally,  as 
in  the  days  before  she  knew  what  love  was,  sat 
alone  in  her  bedroom,  or  in  this  open  square  of  the 
upper  hall.  She  could  hear  the  murmur  of  voices 
from  the  library  as,  between  their  pleasant  silences, 


SIDNEY.  157 

Sidney  and  her  father  talked  ;  and  she  began  to  fear 
that  the  major  had  forgotten  his  appointment,  —  that 
he  might  have  forgotten  her  was  of  so  little  impor 
tance  that  she  did  not  think  of  it.  At  last  she  went 
downstairs,  hovering  near  the  library  door  with  a 
fluttering  excuse  about  books  before  she  dared  to  re 
mind  her  brother  that  the  clock  in  the  hall  had 
struck  four,  with  that  rattling  sigh  with  which  old 
clocks  let  the  hours  slip  away. 

The  major  thanked  her,  but  it  was  with  an  evident 
effort  that  he  roused  himself  from  his  deep  chair  and 
his  book,  and  started  out. 

Miss  Sally  did  not  realize  that  some  one  else  was 
as  impatient  as  she.  Mrs.  Paul  had  been  watching 
the  green  door  in  the  garden  wall  with  keen  eyes.  It 
did  not  occur  to  her,  in  her  excited  expectation,  that 
Major  Lee  would  not  come  in  so  unconventional  a 
fashion ;  the  lane,  and  the  terraced  steps,  and  the 
formal  waiting  at  her  white  front  door  finally  brought 
him  while  she  was  frowning  at  his  delay.  She  had 
spent  the  greater  part  of  the  afternoon  at  her  toilet 
table,  and  she  was  still  sitting  there,  in  front  of  the 
mirror,  when  Davids  at  last  announced  the  major. 

It  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  Mrs.  Paul  that 
her  serving-woman  should  have  seen  her  excitement 
or  understood  her  anxiety  about  her  dress.  Scarlett 
was  useful  to  her  ;  Mrs.  Paul  declared  that  she  could 
not  live  without  Scarlett ;  but  to  her  mind  a  servant 
had  no  personality,  and  so  she  made  no  more  effort 
to  conceal  her  emotion  from  the  little,  silent,  shriv 
eled  woman  than  from  a  chair  or  table.  She  was 
quite  aware,  and  equally  indifferent  to  the  fact,  that 


158  SIDNEY. 

Scarlett  knew  why  she  was  made  to  puff  her  mis 
tress's  soft  white  hair  with  such  precision,  and  con 
sulted  so  sharply  upon  the  black  lace  scarf  which 
Mrs.  Paul  pinned  about  her  head  to  frame  her  face 
in  softened  shadow.  The  servant  heard  her  sigh  as 
she  looked  down  at  her  black  satin  dress.  "  If  I 
had  known  a  week  ago,  Scarlett,  you  could  have 
done  another  gown  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  the  woman  replied,  «  but  nothing 
could  have  become  you  better." 

Mrs.  Paul,  resting  her  elbow  on  the  table,  looked 
at  herself  in  the  glass  ;  her  lip  curled,  and  she  struck 
the  floor  with  her  stick.  "  What  difference  does  it 
make ! "  she  said,  under  her  breath.  Then  she 
leaned  back  in  her  chair,  absently  plucking  at  the 
lace  about  her  wrists,  and  waited. 

Major  Lee  was  very  long  in  coming,  Scarlett 
thought.  She  sat  outside  the  bedroom,  in  the  some 
what  chilly  upper  hall,  where  she  could  be  within 
reach  of  Mrs.  Paul's  voice  and  could  see  her  face 
in  the  mirror.  Scarlett  had  her  own  thoughts  in 
that  half-hour  while  she  waited  in  the  cold  ;  her  thin, 
stiff  fingers  were  hidden  in  her  sleeves  for  warmth, 
and  her  little  dim  eyes  stared  at  the  faded  engrav 
ing  on  the  wall  beside  her,  of  some  long-dead  Paul, 
who,  in  a  silken  gown,  pointed  with  the  pallid  fore 
finger  of  his  right  hand  at  the  roll  of  manuscripts  in 
his  left,  and  who  had  a  simpering  consciousness 
of  the  inscription  below  the  portrait,  "  The  Honor 
able,"  etc.  Scarlett  never  dreamed  of  making  her 
self  comfortable,  but  sat  upright  on  the  broad,  hard 
seat  which  ran  across  the  window  and  was  covered 


SIDNEY.  159 

with  glazed  calico.  She  reflected  that  Mrs.  Paul 
was  annoyed  at  Major  Lee's  delay,  but  she  neither 
rejoiced  nor  grieved  with  her,  although  it  seemed 
to  her  only  right  that  her  mistress  should  suffer 
sometimes.  In  her  passionless  way,  the  woman  con 
templated  Life,  as  it  was  revealed  to  her  under  this 
roof,  with  interest;  but  it  never  touched  Scarlett 
herself.  When  at  last  Davids  came  to  say  that  the 
expected  guest  was  in  the  drawing-room,  Scarlett 
could  see  in  the  mirror  the  sudden  quiver  of  her 
mistress's  face  at  the  major's  name.  "  TJiat  '11  never 
grow  old,  nor  her  pride,"  she  thought  calmly. 

Mrs.  Paul  rose,  carrying  her  head  with  a  certain 
lofty  grace  that  hinted  at  lines  of  her  neck  and 
shoulders  which  must  once  have  been  beautiful. 
She  took  Davids'  arm  to  the  parlor,  but  discarded  it 
there,  and  then,  handing  her  stick  to  Scarlett,  she 
motioned  them  both  back  with  an  imperious  gesture. 
The  man  and  woman  looked  at  each  other  a  moment, 
as  she  entered  the  room  without  support,  and  Davids 
said,  under  his  breath,  "  Law  !  "  but  Scarlett  was 
silent. 

The  green  baize  door  closed,  and  the  two  servants 
did  not  see  her  sweep  backwards  in  a  superb  courtesy 
as  the  major  bowed  over  her  hand.  "  It  is  a  very 
long  time,"  she  said,  "  since  this  roof  has  had  the 
honor  of  sheltering  Mortimer  Lee."  Her  momentary 
strength  was  failing,  and  she  needed  his  arm  to 
reach  her  chair,  into  which  she  sank,  trembling  be 
neath  the  folds  of  her  black  satin. 

"  A  recluse,  Mrs.  Paul,"  returned  the  major,  re 
garding  her  with  grave  and  courteous  attention, 


160  SIDNEY. 

"  does  not  often  permit  himself  the  luxury  of  pleas 
ure." 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  here  for  nearly  four  years," 
she  said,  with  sudden  weakness  in  her  voice. 

"  That  must  mean,"  he  answered,  "  that  there  has 
been  no  opportunity  for  me  to  be  of  service  to  Mrs. 
Paul  for  nearly  four  years.  Let  me  hope  to  be  more 
fortunate  in  the  future." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  standing  at  her  side,  abso 
lutely  remote  and  indifferent,  and  her  face  sharpened, 
but  her  voice  was  as  even  as  his  own.  "  I  took  the 
liberty,  my  dear  Major  Lee,  of  sending  for  you,  be 
cause  I  wished  to  say  a  word  to  you  of  Sidney's  fu 
ture." 

With  a  charming  gesture  and  a  smile,  she  begged 
him  to  be  seated.  The  major,  in  his  well-brushed 
blue  coat,  with  his  soft  felt  hat  upon  his  knees  and 
his  worn  gloves  in  his  left  hand,  waited  in  silent  pa 
tience  until  this  echo  of  his  past,  in  her  mist  of  lace 
and  hazy  sparkle  of  jewels,  should  choose  to  explain 
why  he  had  been  summoned.  It  was  not  business, 
evidently.  Sidney's  future  ?  That  belonged  to  him  ; 
but  no  doubt  she  meant  well. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  continued  Mrs.  Paul,  "  such 
a  pleasing  hint  was  given  me  yesterday  of  Mr.  Steele 
that  I  felt  I  must  take  the  liberty  of  an  old  friend 
of  Sidney's,  — she  has,  I  think,  no  friend  who  has 
loved  her  so  long?  —  and  ask  you  directly  about  it. 
Pray,  Major  Lee,  do  you  like  young  Steele  ?  " 

The  major  had  looked  puzzled,  but  his  face  cleared, 
and  there  was  even  a  smile  for  a  moment  behind  the 
enduring  sadness  of  his  eyes.  "  I  scarcely  know  him 


SIDNEY.  161 

well  enough  to  have  a  personal  regard  for  him,"  he 
said,  "  but  his  father  was  my  friend." 

"  Oh,  yes,  true,"  returned  Mrs.  Paul ;  "  and  that 
Sidney's  father  was  once  —  I  am  sure  I  may  say  is 
still  —  my  friend,  must  be  an  excuse  for  my  questions 
and  interest.  You  think,  I  am  sure,  that  he  is  an 
admirable  young  man ;  one  who  must  be  successful 
some  time,  even  though  some  youthful  theory  of 
honor,  which  he  has  doubtless  outgrown,  made  him 
rather  foolish.  He  will  certainly  be  a  successful 
man  ?  " 

"  Successful  ? "  The  major  lifted  his  eyebrows. 
"  In  his  particular  line  he  will  no  doubt  be  success 
ful.  I  should  think  he  might  achieve  a  trifle  bril 
liantly." 

"  Are  you  not  severe  ?  "  she  said  gayly.  "  But  I 
feared  you  might  have  some  such  impression,  and  I 
wished  to  say  —  I  begged  you  to  come  this  after 
noon  that  I  might  say  —  that  if,  as  I  have  surmised, 
he  desires  the  honor  of  connecting  himself  with  the 
family  of  Major  Lee?"  —  the  major  bowed — "  I 
should  like  to  express  my  confidence  in  his  ability, 
and  to  add,  if  you  will  permit  me,  one  word  of  my 
intentions  concerning  Sidney." 

"You  do  my  daughter  much  honor  by  your  kind 
interest,"  he  answered,  still  with  a  slight  smile.  "I 
shall  be  rejoiced  to  listen  to  all  that  you  may  say  of 
her ;  but  for  Mr.  Steele  my  sister  must  thank  you 
for  your  very  cordial  expression  of  approval." 

"  Sally  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Paul,  sitting  upright,  grasp 
ing  the  arms  of  her  chair  with  white  jeweled  fingers. 

"  My   sister   begged    me,"    proceeded   the   major 


162  SIDNEY. 

calmly,  "  to  ask  for  your  congratulations,  and  I  shall 
be  glad  to  be  the  bearer  of  them  to  Mr.  Steele." 

"  Sally !  "  said  Mrs.  Paul  again,  faintly  ;  and  then 
falling  back  into  her  chair,  she  looked  at  her  guest's 
grave  face.  "I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  am  —  sur 
prised  ;  I  had  imagined  —  hoped  —  that  the  young 
man  had  thought  of  Sidney." 

The  putting  it  into  words  banished  any  glimmer 
of  amusement  from  the  major's  eyes  ;  he  frowned 
slightly.  "  My  sister  is  extremely  happy." 

That  he  should  ignore  her  allusion  to  Sidney  stung 
Mrs.  Paul  into  momentary  forgetfulness  of  her  dis 
appointment.  "  I  am  distressed  that  it  is  not  Sid 
ney.  The  child's  future,  —  what  is  it?  Surely  — 
surely  —  you  have  not  thought  of  that  ?  " 

There  was  no  tenderness  in  her  voice,  but  the 
major  reproached  himself  for  that.  Perhaps  he  had 
not  been  courteous  to  refuse  to  speak  of  Sidney. 
"You  are  most  kind,"  he  said,  with  an  effort,  "but 
I  have  no  fear  for  my  daughter's  future ;  she  will 
not  be  unhappy." 

"  She  will  not  be  happy,"  returned  Mrs.  Paul 
quickly,  "  if  you  mean  that  she  is  never  to  care  for 
any  one,  never  to  marry.  Oh,  spare  Sidney  your 
theories  ;  let  her  have  some  happiness  in  life !  " 

"  If  there  were  such  a  thing,"  the  major  answered 
simply ;  "  but  the  best  I  have  been  able  to  do  has 
been  to  teach  her  how  to  escape  misery." 

"  You  make  it  appear,"  she  said,  "  that  there  is 
nothing  positive  but  pain.  Is  not  life  worth  having  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  found  it  so,"  the  major  replied;  "have 
you?" 


SIDNEY.  163 

"  No !  "  she  cried,  with  a  sharp  gesture,  "  I  have 
not,  but  —  I  might." 

Mortimer  Lee  sighed.  "Yes?  Well,  Sidney 
shall  at  least  not  learn  its  worthlessness  through  grief, 
as  you  have  learned  it,  and  as  I  have." 

"Ah!"  she  said,  with  a  quick  indrawn  breath; 
and  then,  with  an  inconsequence  which  made  him 
look  at  her  with  sudden  attention,  "I  —  I  had  the 
greatest  respect  for  Mr.  Paul." 

"My  very  slight  acquaintance  with  him,"  Major 
Lee  replied,  relieved  to  change  the  subject,  "  I  re 
member  with  pleasure.  He  was  a  person  of  most 
amiable  manners." 

Mrs.  Paul  bent  her  head.  "He  had  not  a  re 
deeming  vice."  The  major  made  no  answer,  and 
she,  looking  steadily  into  the  fire,  was  silent ;  they 
could  hear  the  clock  ticking  in  the  hall.  "  If  you 
do  not  give  her  the  only  thing  which  makes  life  en 
durable,"  Mrs.  Paul  began,  —  "  it  may  not  last,  or 
it  may  not  be  very  great,  but  it  is  the  best  we  know, 
—  if  you  will  not  let  her  have  the  happiness  of  love, 
think  how  empty  her  life  will  be !  Oh,  when  she  is 
as  old  as  we  are,  what  will  she  have  ?  " 

"  No  hopeless  pain,"  he  answered  briefly,  "  no 
bitter  memories." 

"  But  what  will  she  have  ? "  insisted  the  other, 
leaning  forward  in  her  earnestness.  "If  she  has 
once  had  love,  nothing  can  take  it  from  her.  She 
need  not  be  afraid  of  memory,  if  she  has  had  it.  It 
is  only  when  it  has  been  denied  that  life  is  bitter." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  the  major,  and  despite  his  polite 
ness  there  was  a  little  weariness  in  his  voice,  for  the 


164  SIDNEY. 

hour  was  late,  "  we  are  old  enough  to  see  that  it  is 
misery  either  way.  Only  the  pain  remains." 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  true !  "  she  cried  with  sudden 
passion.  "  No,  I  know  it  is  not  true.  An  instant's 
happiness,  —  one  would  pay  for  an  instant  by  years 
of  misery  !  I  know  it  —  now  !  My  soul  is  not  old, 
I  am  not  old,  Mortimer,  —  oh,  this  miserable  body  !  " 
She  struck  her  hand  fiercely  against  her  breast ; 
anger  at  the  fetters  of  the  years,  the  extraordinary 
effort  of  her  soul  to  break  the  ice  of  age,  sent  a  wave 
of  color  into  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  burned  and  glowed, 
her  whole  form  dilated,  —  she  was  a  beautiful  woman. 
It  was  only  for  a  moment ;  then  she  shrank  down  in 
her  chair,  and  her  lips  had  the  tremulous  weakness 
of  age.  "  Let  the  child  be  happy,  —  let  her  love 
some  one." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  answered,  frowning,  and 
with  averted  eyes,  "  you  are  very  kind  to  take  such 
thought  for  my  daughter,  but  I  merely  express  her 
own  judgment  and  inclination  in  this  matter.  And 
to  return  to  the  subject  for  which  you  were  so  good 
as  to  summon  me,  I  rejoice  that  you  approve  of  Mr. 
Steele." 

"  What  I  meant  to  say,"  she  replied,  with  instant 
composure,  "  was  connected  with  him  only  because 
I  supposed  him  to  be  Sidney's  lover.  Otherwise,  I 
confess,  he  does  not  interest  me.  I  was  glad  to 
think  that  she  was  to  marry  a  rich  man."  She 
stopped,  wishing  that  she  might  fling  out  some  cruel 
word  to  wound  him.  Then,  in  a  flash,  she  had  an 
inspiration.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  been  fearful 
that,  with  the  perversity  inherent  in  young  women, 


SIDNEY.  165 

she  might  fall  in  love  with  a  poor  man.  Indeed, 
seeing  Alan  Crossan's  infatuation,  I  was  somewhat 
anxious ;  there  is  no  money,  and  he  has,  I  believe, 
heart  disease.  However,  as  her  opinion  agrees  so 
entirely  with  yours,  there  is  perhaps  no  danger  of 
that  ?  " 

"None,  I  think,"  the  major  answered,  hot  and 
cold  at  once ;  "  but  I  must  not  intrude  my  daughter 
further  upon  your  kindness." 

He  rose,  with  a  look  which  was  unmistakable,  and 
which  acted  upon  Mrs.  Paul  as  some  sharp  pain  does 
on  a  half-stunned  and  suffering  animal.  She  stood 
bracing  herself  by  one  shaking  hand  on  the  back  of 
her  chair,  and  smiling  calmly  from  under  the  arch 
of  her  delicate  brows.  "  You  are  so  very  kind  to 
have  come,"  she  said,  "  although,  to  be  sure,  I  am 
disappointed  to  find  that  it  was  unnecessary  to 
trouble  you,  and  I  cannot  be  of  service  to  Sidney,  as 
I  had  hoped ;  but  I  must  not  detain  you  any  longer  I 
The  little  tea-party  which  I  had  proposed  for  Sidney 
must  turn  into  one  of  congratulation  for  —  dear 
Sally.  And  you  are  so  much  occupied,  I  fear  we 
must  not  hope  that  you  will  join  us  ?  "  Her  eyes 
glittered  as  she  spoke,  and  there  was  a  sting  in  her 
voice  which  would  have  made  acceptance  impossible, 
even  had  the  major  wished  to  come.  But  nothing 
was  further  from  his  desires,  and  with  an  old- 
fashioned  stateliness  he  "  regretted  "  and  "  deplored," 
and,  then,  bowing  over  her  hand,  yet  soft  and  white 
under  its  rings,  he  left  her,  standing,  smiling,  in  the 
firelight. 

Later,  when  Scarlett  came  in  to  see  if  she  should 


166  SIDNEY. 

fetch  the  lamps,  she  found  her  mistress  fallen  in  a 
heap  back  into  her  chair,  her  head  resting  in  her 
hands  and  her  bent  shoulders  shaken  by  feeble  sobs. 
"  Take  me  upstairs,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  go  to 
bed,  Scarlett,  you  fool !  Don't  you  see  I  'm  sick  ? 
Oh,  let  me  go  to  sleep  !  I  'm  so  old  —  so  old  —  so 
old." 


XII. 

THE  Sunday  desolation  of  the  streets  pressed 
upon  Mortimer  Lee,  as  he  went  home,  like  a  tangi 
ble  misery.  The  working-folk  in  their  best  clothes, 
staring  out  of  the  windows  in  forlorn  and  unaccus 
tomed  leisure,  or  walking  about  in  the  gray,  cold 
dusk  as  though  restless  from  too  much  rest,  were 
part  of  the  hopeless  dreariness  of  life  to  him ;  and 
he  would  have  felt  that  bitter  pity  for  humanity, 
which  is  often  only  intense  self-pity,  —  for  each  man 
is  to  himself  the  type  of  humanity,  —  had  not  that 
hint  of  Mrs.  Paul's  concerning  Alan  been  burning 
in  his  heart.  He  could  not  banish  it,  although  it  was, 
he  said  to  himself,  absurd,  nay,  improper,  to  give  it 
any  thought ;  but  he  wished  Mrs.  Paul  had  not  sug 
gested  such  a  thing.  It  was  only  in  this  connection 
that  the  sobbing,  angry  old  woman  was  in  his  mind. 

When,  the  next  morning,  he  told  his  sister  that 
the  tea-party  was  to  be  one  of  congratulation  for 
her,  she  turned  white  with  pleasure.  "  Dear  Mrs. 
Paul,  how  good  and  kind  she  is  !  If  it  were  Sid 
ney,  now  ;  but  just  me  !  " 

The  major  frowned.  "  Sarah,  I  wish  you  would 
be  so  good  as  never  to  refer  to  Sidney  in  such  a 
connection." 

Miss  Sally  was  very  much  abashed.  "  Of  course 
I  won't,  Mortimer.  I  only  meant "  — 


168  SIDNEY. 

"  Just  so,  I  understand,"  said  the  major  hastily. 
"  Pardon  me  for  interrupting  you,  but  we  need  not 
discuss  it." 

Miss  Sally  had  a  moment  of  blankness,  but  her 
new  interest  filled  her  with  such  unwonted  exhilara 
tion  that  she  forgot  the  snub  in  reflecting  that  she 
must  decide  what  she  should  wear,  —  or  rather  she 
must  ask  Sidney,  —  for  in  so  important  a  matter 
she  could  not  trust  her  own  judgment ;  so,  humming 
a  little  song  in  unaccustomed  joyousness,  she  went 
to  consult  her  niece  in  the  lumber-room  of  the  east 
wing,  where  of  late  Sidney  worked  at  her  carving. 
It  was  one  of  those  mild  days  which  sometimes 
come  in  winter,  when  the  skies  are  as  blue  as  June. 
Little  clouds,  like  foam  or  flocks  of  snowy  birds, 
drifted  up  and  across  from  the  west ;  here  and  there 
brown  patches  of  grass,  wet  from  the  melting  snow, 
caught  the  sunshine  in  a  sudden  gleam  ;  like  a  fringe 
of  light  the  icicles  along  the  eaves  sparkled  and 
glittered,  and,  as  they  melted  in  the  sun,  the  flash 
ing  instant  of  each  falling  drop  ended  in  a  bell-like 
chime  upon  the  wet  flagstones  below. 

This  room  in  the  east  wing  was  full  of  sunshine. 
Sidney's  pots  of  jonquils  on  the  window-ledge 
bloomed  in  white  and  gold,  and  filled  the  air  with 
fine  and  subtle  sweetness.  The  dusk  of  the  room 
seemed  laced  with  the  sparkle  of  the  sun  and  the 
golden  burst  of  blossoms  on  the  sill.  Sidney  had 
pushed  into  the  stream  of  sunshine  by  the  win 
dow,  a  round  rosewood  table,  which  was  supported 
by  a  single  rotund  leg  ending  in  vicious-looking 
brass  claws ;  her  tools  were  on  it,  and  a  design  Alan 


SIDNEY.  169 

had  drawn  for  her,  and  she  was  intent  upon  her 
carving,  the  sun  powdering  the  soft  hair  about  her 
forehead,  and  glittering  along  the  blade  of  her 
small,  keen  knife.  Miss  Sally,  twisting  her  feather 
duster  nervously  between  her  loosely  gloved  fingers, 
slipped  into  the  lumber-room  from  the  hall,  closing 
the  door  behind  her  with  an  elaborate  quiet  which 
sent  a  muffled  echo  along  the  lofty  ceiling.  Sidney 
looked  up,  and  blushed  deeper  than  did  her  aunt. 
It  was  all  so  strange  !  Somehow,  instead  of  the 
old  affectionate  indifference,  she  felt  a  frightened 
interest,  which  was  at  the  same  time  half  repulsion. 
Her  hand  shook,  and  the  mid-rib  of  a  curling  leaf 
was  notched  and  bent. 

"  Sidney,"  said  Miss  Sally,  going  over  to  the  jon 
quils,  and  examining  their  brave  green  spears, 
"  what  do  you  think  I  had  better  wear  on  Thurs 
day  ?  The  major  says  the  party  is  for  me,  —  just 
think  of  that,  Sidney  !  So  of  course  it 's  only  proper 
that  I  should  pay  Mrs.  Paul  the  compliment  of  look 
ing  well,  —  at  least  as  well  as  I  can." 

Sidney  listened  absently.  When  her  aunt  paused, 
after  enumerating  her  dresses,  she  made  this  or  that 
comment  upon  the  modest  wardrobe,  scarcely  know 
ing  what  she  said. 

"  After  all,"  continued  Miss  Sally,  with  a  con 
tented  sigh,  "a  good  black  silk  is  the  very  best 
thing,  don't  you  think  so,  love  ?  And  you  know  my 
bit  of  thread  lace  ?  I  washed  it  out  only  yesterday, 
and  put  it  around  a  bottle  to  dry,  and  then  pulled  it 
a  little  so  it  really  does  look  very  well.  That  in  the 
neck  and  sleeves,  and  my  mosaic  pin,  will  be  nice 


170  SIDNEY. 

and  neat  and  in  good  taste,  and  Mrs.  Paul  will  like 
it,  I  'm  sure."  She  hesitated,  wrinkling  her  fore 
head  anxiously.  "  I  wish  my  black  silk  had  a  little 
train  ;  but  I  remember  that  when  I  bought  it  a  train 
did  seem  too  extravagant.  I  might  piece  it  and  let 
it  down  in  the  back,  but  it  has  been  turned  twice, 
you  know,  and  is  so  very  old  I  'm  afraid  it  would  n't 
stand  that  ?  "  Sidney  nodded.  "  It  is  really  a  very 
important  occasion,"  proceeded  the  other.  "  I  can't 
get  used  to  being  so  important.  Dear  Mrs.  Paul,  I 
hope  she  knows  that  I  appreciate  her  kindness !  " 
Then  it  struck  her  that  she  had  forgotten  Sidney, 
and  with  remorseful  haste  she  began  to  talk  of  what 
her  niece  should  wear. 

"  Aunt  Sally,"  saH.  Sidney,  leaning  back  in  her 
chair,  but  still  playing  with  her  little  sharp  knife, 
"I  suppose  you  don't  have  to  think  of  what  Mr. 
Steele  would  like,  because  he  will  be  pleased  with 
anything  you  wear  ?  " 

"  It 's  very  good  in  you  to  think  so,"  responded 
Miss  Sally  brightly. 

"  I  meant,"  Sidney  said,  —  "I  wondered "  —  But 
she  could  not  put  her  wonder  into  words.  Love? 
Was  this  love  ?  She  shook  her  head  silently,  and 
began  with  a  steady  hand  to  curve  the  petal  of  a 
rose.  Miss  Sally,  however,  did  not  stop  to  speculate 
upon  the  nature  of  love  ;  nor  did  she  know  that  this 
new  thing  in  her  life  had  brought  a  brightness  into 
her  timid  eyes  and  a  little  color  into  her  face  which 
was  as  though  youth  had  looked  back  upon  her  for 
a  moment.  Sidney  watched  her,  mystified  by  it, 
and  by  the  apparent  contradiction  of  her  aunt's 
thought  for  small  things. 


SIDNEY.  171 

Major  Lee  also  observed  Miss  Sally  closely  in 
those  days,  but  he  did  not  misunderstand  her  frame 
of  mind.  "  It  is  the  newness  of  feeling  important," 
he  explained  to  himself,  "  and  the  interest  in  some 
thing  quite  her  own,  and  the  pleasure  of  being  cared 
for.  She  does  not  even  trouble  herself  by  the  en 
deavor  to  suppose  that  it  is  love." 

And  indeed  Miss  Sally  was  so  happy  that  she  had 
almost  forgotten  that  she  was  in  love,  although  she 
never  for  a  moment  forgot  that  Mr.  Steele  "cared 
for  her."  It  was  thus  she  thought  of  his  affection. 
"  She  is  so  happy,"  Sidney  said  to  her  father  once, 
her  eyes  clouding  with  a  puzzled  look,  "  she  never 
seems  afraid  ?  " 

"  True,"  the  major  answered,  with  half  a  sigh, 
"  but  there  are  three  reasons  for  that,  Sidney.  In 
the  first  place,  she  never  thinks  of  his  death, — 
your  aunt  has  no  imagination,  as  you  very  well 
know  ;  in  the  second  place,  her  heaven  would  con 
sole  her  if  she  did  think  of  it ;  but  thirdly,  she  — 
has  a  regard  for  Mr.  Steele  !  " 

In  fact,  Miss  Sally  had  never  in  the  whole  course 
of  her  devoted  and  self-effacing  life  created  half  so 
much  interest  in  her  own  household,  and  she  had 
never  before  given  so  little  thought  to  her  brother 
and  Sidney.  Afterwards,  when  the  newness  of  it 
all  had  worn  off,  and  she  was  even  wearying  a  little 
for  the  old  accustomed  round  of  emotions,  she  re 
proached  herself  for  this.  But  for  the  present  it 
was  all  a  fluttering  and  growing  joy. 

Thursday  evening  was  a  climax.  Miss  Sally 
scarcely  slept  the  night  before  for  thinking  what  she 


172  SIDNEY. 

should  do  and  say  at  a  tea-party  given  in  her  honor. 
Nor  did  Mrs.  Paul  sleep  well  that  night ;  she  was 
enraged  at  herself  that  she  had  not  withdrawn  her 
invitations.  "  Why  in  the  world,"  she  had  cried  to 
her  son,  sweeping  the  checkers  off  the  board  when 
she  saw  defeat  approaching,  "  am  I  to  be  bored  by 
these  people  to-morrow  evening  ?  I  have  n't  seen 
Sally  this  week ;  I  would  n't.  I  sent  word  by  Sid 
ney  that  I  did  n't  want  her  to  read  to  me,  and  what 
does  the  fool  do  but  write  me  a  note  to  thank  me  for 
my  consideration  ?  And  that  young  Steele  !  Lord  ! 
I  can  forgive  him  about  the  money;  vice  can  be 
overlooked,  but  not  stupidity  !  " 

She  changed  her  mind  about  the  tea-party  twenty 
times  before  Thursday  morning  dawned.  "  I  can 
say  I  have  a  headache,  and  put  it  off,  even  at  the 
last  moment,  Scarlett,  only  "  —  Mrs.  Paul  closed 
her  lips  suddenly.  Perhaps  Scarlett  guessed  the 
rest.  Mortimer  Lee  should  not  think  that  his 
affairs  or  his  daughter's  changed  her  plans.  So  the 
tea-party  was  not  postponed,  and  Thursday  evening 
arrived.  At  precisely  half  past  six,  Miss  Sally, 
breathing  quickly  with  excitement,  took  Robert 
Steele's  arm,  and  went  with  little  tripping  steps 
through  the  garden  and  up  to  Mrs.  Paul's  door. 

The  path  was  too  narrow  for  Sidney  to  walk 
beside  her  aunt,  and  Robert,  aware  that  she  was  fol 
lowing  him,  found  it  strangely  difficult  to  listen  to 
Miss  Sally's  chatter.  Again,  as  he  met  the  two 
ladies  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  he  knew  with  painful 
consciousness  that  Sidney's  wondering  eyes  were 
looking  down  at  him  as  she  stood  a  step  or  two 


SIDNEY.  178 

above  him ;  one  hand  was  on  the  twisted  rail  of  the 
banister,  and  the  other  lifted  the  train  of  the  old 
brocade,  with  its  gleaming  folds  of  soft  blue,  and  its 
quaint,  stiff  bunches  of  flowers.  Miss  Sally,  fum 
bling  over  a  glove  button,  was  saying  something 
—  he  did  not  know  what  —  with  a  hysterical  little 
laugh. 

Except  Alan  and  the  Browns  no  one  had  arrived, 
so  Miss  Sally  breathed  more  freely  as  they  entered 
the  drawing-room.  Mrs.  Paul  was  sitting,  as  usual, 
in  state  beside  the  fire,  and  in  answer  to  Miss  Sally's 
bow  and  outstretched  hand  she  motioned  her  aside, 
and  cried,  "  Sidney,  you  look  like  Madame  la  Mar 
quise  in  that  gown  and  with  your  hair  pompadour  ! 
Let  me  kiss  you,  child !  " 

Sidney's  fleeting  color  deepened  into  a  smile  as 
she  caught  Alan's  eye,  and  then,  while  Miss  Sally 
blushed  and  trembled  against  her  lover,  Mrs.  Paul 
adjusted  her  glasses,  and  extended  two  fingers  to  the 
guest  of  the  evening.  "  Well,  Sally,  so  you  're  to 
be  congratulated  at  last !  " 

"  I  claim  your  greatest  congratulations,  Mrs. 
Paul,"  said  Kobert,  in  a  voice  which  made  Miss 
Sally's  heart  come  up  in  her  throat,  but  delighted 
the  older  woman.  She  did  not  much  care  upon 
whom  she  vented  the  anger  which  still  stung  her  as 
she  thought  of  that  interview  with  the  major,  but 
her  disappointment  about  Sidney  had  turned  into 
contempt  for  Mr.  Steele,  so  she  was  glad  to  make 
him  uncomfortable.  As  for  the  major's  sister,  she 
could  scarcely  think  of  her  with  calmness. 

"  You  may  kiss  me,"  she  said,  turning  her  cheek 


174  SIDNEY. 

towards  Miss  Sally,  with  that  peculiar  look  of 
endurance  with  which  some  people  accept  a  kiss. 

"  I  was  afraid  we  were  late,  dear  Mrs.  Paul !  " 
cried  Miss  Sally,  her  eyes  filling  with  pleasure  at 
this  favor. 

"  I  should  never  complain  of  your  lateness,  Sally," 
returned  the  other  grimly. 

"  You  are  so  good  to  say  so !  "  said  Miss  Sally. 

Robert's  face  had  darkened,  but  it  did  not  repel 
Mrs.  Paul ;  she  motioned  him  to  draw  a  chair  to  her 
side.  "  I  knew  your  father  so  well,  I  —  I  had  an 
opportunity  of  observing  his  devotion  when  he  was 
in  love,  so  I  can  imagine  how  very  happy  his  son  is 
now.  A  young  man  just  engaged,  and  to  so  estima 
ble  a  person  as  our  dear  Sally,  is,  of  course,  in  hea 
ven?" 

Robert  bowed ;  he  could  see,  without  looking  at 
her,  that  Miss  Sally  was  still  guarding  her  shyness 
with  nervous  laughter.  His  heart  glowed  with  pity. 
Mrs.  Paul  was  interrupted  here  by  fresh  arrivals, 
and  he  had  a  moment  in  which  to  reflect  how  he 
might  seem  to  be  unconscious  of  the  sneer  in  her 
words.  As  soon  as  she  could  she  turned  to  him 
again.  "And  you  are  very,  very  much  in  love? 
How  charming  it  is  to  be  young  and  have  enthusi 
asm  !  Sally  must  think  so  whenever  she  looks  at 
you." 

"  We  are  neither  of  us  very  young,"  said  Robert, 
"  but  perhaps  we  are  the  better  able  to  appreciate 
happiness,  now  we  have  it." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  returned  Mrs.  Paul,  looking 
away  with  scarcely  concealed  weariness.  She  lifted 


SIDNEY.  175 

her  glasses  to  stare  at  each  guest,  but  stopped  for  a 
longer  glance  at  Alan  Crossan  and  Sidney. 

Alan  had  not  looked  well  since  that  struggle  in 
the  river;  he  was  pale,  and  there  was  a  luminous 
intensity  in  his  eyes  that  was  new.  Mrs.  Paul  saw 
it,  and  a  curious  look  came  into  her  face. 

This  was  as  it  should  be.  It  was  better  that 
Mortimer  Lee  had  not  come ;  he  must  not  see  it  too 
soon  ;  when  it  had  gone  so  far  that  opposition  would 
only  increase  it,  then,  perhaps,  she  might  be  able  to 
forget  her  humiliation  in  pointing  out  to  him  his 
own.  Mrs.  Paul  was  able  to  think  these  thoughts, 
and  yet  say  pleasant  things  to  her  guests.  The 
gleam  of  many  lights,  the  voices  and  laughter  of  her 
company,  the  courtly  badinage  of  an  old  admirer, 
and  more  than  all,  the  chance  to  fling  into  Robert 
Steele's  quivering  soul  a  truth,  tipped  and  sharp 
ened  by  a  lie,  braced  her  into  positive  enjoyment  of 
the  dreaded  tea-party.  She  would  have  been  glad 
if  Colonel  Drayton  had  seen  fit  to  ignore  his  cousin 
Mr.  Steele,  even  though  it  would  have  been  a  rude 
ness  to  their  hostess ;  anything  to  wound  the  young 
fool! 

There  were  moments  during  that  evening  when 
she  almost  forgot  her  rage  at  the  designing  Sally  in 
her  contempt  for  Sally's  lover.  "  One  can't  blame 
Sally,  at  her  time  of  life,''  she  said  to  Mrs.  Brown, 
"  but  the  young  man  —  Lord  !  " 

When,  at  half  past  seven,  Davids  flung  open  the 
doors  into  the  dining-room,  Mrs.  Paul,  leaning  on 
Colonel  Dray  ton's  arm,  marshaled  her  guests  with 
charming  grace.  To  be  sure,  by  some  oversight,  as 


176  SIDNEY. 

Miss  Sally  explained,  there  was  no  one  to  offer  her 
his  arm,  until  Alan,  with  a  word  to  Sidney,  who  had 
been  assigned  to  him,  came  to  her  side. 

"  Dear  Miss  Sally,"  he  said,  "  won't  you  walk  into 
the  dining-room  with  me  ?  " 

Miss  Sally  hesitated  to  deprive  Sidney  of  an 
escort.  "And  yet,  you  know,  Alan,  Mrs.  Paul 
would  feel  so  badly  to  think  she  had  forgotten  me, 
when  the  party  is  for  me  —  perhaps  I  'd  better  ?  " 

So  Alan  placed  her  at  the  table,  by  John's  side, 
and  saw  her  flash  one  happy  look  at  Robert  Steele, 
who  was  upon  Mrs.  Paul's  right.  Robert's  stern 
expression  delighted  his  hostess  and  brought  a  finer 
cordiality  into  her  face  ;  it  also  inspired  her  to  make 
her  other  guests  uncomfortable.  She  introduced  a 
theological  discussion  between  Mr.  Brown  and  Alan 
by  asking  the  clergyman  if  he  knew  that  he  had 
another  heathen  in  his  parish.  "  Fancy,"  she  cried, 
"  how  shocked  I  was  (anything  irreverent  is  very 
shocking  to  me,  Mr.  Steele)  to  hear  him  say  that  the 
church  which  taught  that  the  Almighty  required  the 
blood  of  Christ  as  an  atonement  made  Judas  Iscar- 
iot  its  chief  saint !  " 

"  I  merely  quoted,  Mrs.  Paul,"  the  doctor  began 
to  say,  embarrassed  and  annoyed,  seeing  the  distress 
in  Miss  Sally's  eyes,  and  aware  that  Colonel  Dray- 
ton  adjusted  his  glasses  for  a  disapproving  look. 

Then  she  turned  upon  Sidney  to  regret  that 
Major  Lee  was  not  present,  ending,  with  a  careless 
gesture,  "  But  he  is  so  odd  —  your  father.  Genius 
is  always  taken  out  of  common  sense." 

These  thrusts  made,  she  could  devote  herself  to 


SIDNEY.  177 

Miss  Sally.  Mrs.  Paul  was  smiling  now  and  very 
handsome.  "  You  have  taken  care  of  Mr.  Steele  to 
advantage,"  she  said,  bending  forward  to  catch  Miss 
Sally's  eye  ;  "  to  his  advantage,  I  mean,  of  course." 

"  He  is  better,"  answered  Miss  Sally  proudly,  and 
Eobert's  face  burned. 

'•  I  suppose  the  little  pills  have  done  it  ?  "  she  said, 
turning  to  Robert.  "  Sally's  little  pills  give  her  so 
much  pleasure,  and  I  suppose  they  never  do  any 
harm,  —  do  they,  Alan  Crossan  ?  She  wanted  me  to 
take  some  once  when  I  was  ill,"  she  went  on  with  a 
shrug.  "I  told  her  I  preferred  death  to  idiocy. 
Seriously,  I  am  a  loss  to  understand  how  persons 
who  believe  in  the  virtues  of  little  pills  can  be  any 
thing  but  knaves  or  fools,  —  I  mean  the  medical 
men,  of  course.  Don't  you  agree  with  me,  Mr. 
Steele?" 

44  Alan  agrees  with  you,  no  doubt,  Mrs.  Paul," 
he  said  carelessly ;  "  but  I  have  a  great  respect  for 
them." 

His  face  was  dark  with  anger.  Mrs.  Paul  was 
witty  at  the  expense  of  the  woman  he  loved ;  yet 
how  ridiculous  were  the  manual  and  the  little  pills  ! 

"  We  must  drink  to  Sally's  future,"  she  began 
again,  later;  "you  young  people  can  stand,  but 
Sally  and  I  may  surely  think  of  comfort.  Alan 
Crossan,  come,  you  've  been  talking  to  Sidney  long 
enough ;  propose  the  toast,  and  congratulate  Sally 
on  the  opportunities  of  life.  All  things  come  to 
one  who  waits  !  You  might  congratulate  yourself, 
too,  upon  having  carried  dear  Mr.  Steele  to  the 
house  where  he  was  to  find  his  happiness." 


178  SIDNEY. 

By  this  time,  every  one  at  the  table,  except  perhaps 
Sidney,  who  was  more  absent-minded  than  usual,  and 
Miss  Sally,  who  was  incapable  of  thinking  an  un- 
kindness  intentional,  was  thoroughly  indignant. 
Alan  was  tingling  with  anger.  But  he  rose,  and  by 
a  happy  turn  of  words  said  so  many  true  and  pretty 
things  of  poor  scarlet  Miss  Sally  that  she  sniffed 
audibly,  and  very  honestly  and  frankly  wiped  her 
eyes.  Even  Sidney  was  touched  by  the  gentleness 
in  Alan's  cordial  young  voice,  and  she  looked  at  the 
little  shrinking  figure  in  the  black  silk,  with  a  smile 
which  made  Miss  Sally  feel  that  her  cup  overflowed 
with  blessings. 

"Now,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  striking  Eobert  lightly 
with  her  fan,  "  what  have  you  to  say  ?  Surely  you 
and  Alan  have  been  rivals.  Sally,  I  did  n't  know 
you  had  so  many  lovers." 

"  We  are  all  Miss  Sally's  lovers,"  observed  John 
Paul ;  it  was  his  first  remark  that  evening. 

Robert  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  with  one 
quick  look  of  gratitude  at  Alan,  and  then  a  burst  of 
self-congratulation,  which  in  Mrs.  Paul's  ears  told  of 
something  beside  happiness  and  hope.  She  smiled 
as  he  proceeded.  "  He  distrusts  himself,"  she  thought ; 
and  when  he  sat  down,  flushed  and  glad,  and  with  a 
look  at  Miss  Sally,  who  was  in  tears,  she  smiled  again. 

"  You  took  no  wine,"  she  said,  with  the  solicitude 
of  the  hostess  ;  adding,  "  Not  even  to  drink  dear 
Sally's  health  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  do  not  use  wine." 

"  Mr.  Steele  does  not  approve  of  wine,"  Miss 
Sally  explained  proudly. 


SIDNEY.  179 

The  doctor  frowned.  Was  Kobert  about  to  assert 
a  temperance  which  he  had  not  practiced  ? 

"  What !  "  cried  Mrs.  Paul,  holding  up  her  wine 
glass  so  that  the  light  sparkling  through  the  claret 
flashed  red  upon  the  starlike  cutting  about  the  bowl, 
"  you  do  not  approve  of  the  moderate  use  of  wine  ? 
Surely  that  is  one  of  Sally's  theories  to  which  you 
have  submitted  ?  Ah,  the  head  is  always  the  slave  of 
the  heart !  " 

"  No,"  Robert  answered  miserably,  —  the  discrep 
ancy  between  his  protest  and  his  life  was  so  appal 
ling  that  he  could  not  stop  to  think  of  the  impression 
he  was  making,  —  "  No,  I  do  not  approve  of  it.     I 
think  Miss  Lee  agrees  with  me,  but  I  felt  that  it  was 
wrong,  for  me,  before  I  knew  her  views.     I  have 
always  felt  that  it  was  wrong,"  he  added,  nervously 
anxious  to  say  without  words  that,  though  he  fell 
short  of    his  principles,   he    never    doubted    them. 
There  was  no  self-consciousness  in   the  distress  in 
his  face ;  only  the  dismay  which  every  sensitive  soul 
feels  in  claiming  a  nobility  of  thought   which  his 
past    contradicts.      Indeed,  it  is   strange  how  long 
after  a  sin  is  atoned  for,  forgotten,  even,  by  all  ex 
cept  the  sinner,  it  will  thrust  a  high  impulse  out  of 
the  soul,  with  a  cry  of  "  Unclean,  unclean!  "     Rob 
ert's  pain  was  so  great  that  he  did  not  feel  Mrs. 
Paul's  significant  look,  nor  care  for  Alan's  annoy 
ance.    He  was  quite  silent  for  the  rest  of  the  uncom 
fortable  occasion,  which,  however,  was  not  prolonged. 
Mrs.  Paul  was  tired  ;  she  was  glad  to  motion  Davids 
to  throw  open   the  folding  doors  again,  and   once 
more  settle  herself  in  her  great  chair  by  the  draw 
ing-room  fire. 


180  SIDNEY. 

Every  one  was  relieved  when  the  dreary  evening- 
came  to  an  end.  Miss  Sally,  to  be  sure,  talked 
cheerfully  all  the  way  home  of  Mrs.  Paul's  good 
ness,  looking  over  her  shoulder  at  Sidney  and  Alan  to 
say  that  Mrs.  Paul  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind  when 
she  spoke  sharply. 

But  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  which  the  dark 
ness  hid  even  from  her  lover. 


XIII. 

FOR  days  afterwards  the  tea-party  was  a  night 
mare  to  Robert  Steele.  It  was  not  that  Mrs.  Paul's 
cruelty  to  Miss  Sally  hurt  him,  for  it  made  him  ten 
derer  to  her,  and  so,  in  a  certain  way,  he  could  al 
most  exult  in  it ;  but  with  terror  he  found  himself 
examining  the  quality  of  his  love,  and  realizing  that 
until  that  evening  at  Mrs.  Paul's,  he  had  seen  Miss 
Sally  only  in  her  relation  to  himself,  and  not  in  re 
lation  to  life.  He  could  never  again  be  deaf  to  her 
foolish  laughter  or  her  little  fluttering  talk,  which 
skirted  great  subjects  without  any  understanding, 
though  with  the  same  reverence  which  she  gave  to 
all  things,  both  small  and  great,  in  a  humility  that 
was  only  humiliation.  He  saw  it  all,  and  despaired 
at  his  own  perception.  "  How  is  it  possible,"  he 
asked  himself,  "loving  her  as  I  do,  honoring  her, 
saved  by  her,  that  I  can  have  an  instant's  thought  of 
what  is  so  small !  "  He  was  shamed  by  his  own 
meanness,  and  so  aware  of  it  that  he  depended  more 
and  more  upon  Miss  Sally's  courage  and  affection. 
With  the  consciousness  of  weakness  came  greater 
love.  Perhaps  this  frame  of  mind  was  induced  by  a 
sharp  return  of  the  old  pain,  and  a  consequent  neces 
sity  of  morphine  with  the  resulting  struggle  against 
that  habit,  which  had  become  almost  dormant.  So, 


182  SIDNEY. 

thrown  more  for  help  upon  the  woman  he  loved,  the 
weeks  passed  not  unhappily,  although  sometimes, 
when  his  mind  was  not  filled  with  her,  he  was 
vaguely  miserable,  because  ever  since  his  engage 
ment  he  had  been  aware  of  a  subtile  estrangement 

O 

from  Alan.  It  was  nothing  more  than  the  doctor's 
unexpressed  astonishment  at  the  step  he  had  taken  ; 
it  was  too  intangible  to  question,  more  a  mood  than 
an  emotion,  and  yet  enough  to  make  this  soul,  which 
marked  with  quivering  exactness  every  changing 
expression  of  its  own  or  of  another,  fall  back  into 
depression.  Feeling  himself  rebuffed,  he  kept  his 
moods  and  wonders  and  vague  terrors  to  himself,  or 
forgot  them  in  Miss  Sally's  presence  and  affection. 
After  all,  what  is  redemption  but  to  be  healed  of 
self-despisings  ?  Little  by  little,  led  by  her  hand, 
Eobert  euierged  again  from  weakness,  and  looked 
about  him ;  then,  gradually,  returned  that  terror 
of  perception  which  had  followed  Mrs.  Paul's  tea- 
party.  It  must  have  been  in  March  that,  one  day, 
depressed  beyond  the  point  where  words  could  cheer 
him,  he  went  drearily  out  into  the  country  for  a  long 
walk. 

It  was  snowing  with  steady  persistency,  and  there 
was  no  wind  ;  only  the  white  cheerfulness  of  a  storm 
that  shut  out  the  world.  Robert  would  have  been 
glad  to  lose  himself  at  once  in  its  vague  comfort, 
but,  with  that  painstaking  kindness  which  was  part 
of  his  nature,  he  stopped  in  Red  Lane  to  learn  how 
Ted  was,  for  the  child  had  been  ill.  The  inquiry 
made,  he  turned,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  down  the 
lane,  crossed  an  unbroken  field,  and  entered  the  soft 


SIDNEY.  183 

gloom  of  the  woods.  The  silence  closed  about  him 
like  down.  He  drew  a  breath  of  thankfulness  ;  it 
was  good  to  be  alone.  He  sat  down  upon  the  trunk 
of  a  fallen  tree,  whose  twisted  and  fantastic  roots 
had  been  plucked  long  ago  from  the  earth,  and 
spread  now  in  the  air  like  the  fretwork  of  a  great 
rose-window  which,  on  all  its  curves  and  ledges,  had 
caught  the  white  outlines  of  the  snow.  He  could 
hear,  back  in  the  woods,  the  faint  sound  of  flakes 
falling  on  the  curled  and  brittle  leaves,  which  still 
hung  thick  upon  the  branches  of  the  oaks.  The 
vague  trouble  which  he  had  refused  to  face  was 
soothed  for  the  moment  into  forgetfulness  and  peace. 
These  sounds  of  nature  have  a  wonderful  claim  upon 
consciousness,  —  both  joy  and  sorrow  melt  into  them  : 
the  noise  of  rain  trampling  at  midnight  through  a 
garden,  the  wind  whispering  in  the  dry  grass  along 
a  hilltop,  the  rustling  haste  of  hail  on  frozen  snow, 
—  all  have  a  power  over  the  mind,  and  seem  to  draw 
it  back  into  the  complete  whole  from  which  it  has 
been  for  the  moment  separated. 

With  the  weight  of  snow  the  underbrush  about 
Robert's  feet  had  bent  into  wonderful  curves,  which 
made  a  network  of  low,  glittering  corridors,  vaulted 
and  arched,  and  so  far  reaching  that  when  some 
furry  creatures  a  rod  away  moved,  or  nestled  softly 
against  each  other,  a  pad  of  snow  from  the  fretted 
roof  fell  with  a  powdery  thud  into  the  white  depths 
at  his  side.  A  rabbit  bounded  past  him,  turning  for 
one  bright,  frank  glance  at  the  motionless  figure 
upon  the  log,  and  leaving  small  intaglios  of  his  steps 
upon  the  surface  of  the  snow.  The  rustle  of  the 


184  SIDNEY. 

flakes  upon  the  dead  leaves,  the  muffled  wood  noises 
about  him,  his  own  breathing,  were  the  only  sounds 
which  broke  the  white  silence  of  the  woods. 

Robert  sat  with  his  head  resting  in  his  hands  ; 
his  eyes  had  but  the  range  of  a  pile  of  fresh  nut 
shells  dropped  at  the  foot  of  the  big  hickory  opposite 
him,  and  a  wild  blackberry  bush  powdered  on  every 
thorn  and  spray  with  feathery  white.  Little  by  lit 
tle,  after  that  first  relief  of  forgetfulness,  he  began 
to  come  back  to  his  unrecognized  pain.  There  was 
nothing  to  distract  his  mind  from  Miss  Sally,  and 
yet  he  found  himself  refusing  to  think  of  the  treas 
ure  of  his  love,  and  instead,  wondering  how  long  it 
would  be  before  the  snow  would  cover  the  shells, 
and  gazing  with  bated  breath  at  two  keen  black  eyes 
which  watched  him  with  friendly  suspicion  from  a 
mossy  hole  between  the  wrinkled  roots  of  the  hick 
ory.  He  remembered,  and  then  sighed  helplessly 
because  he  remembered,  that  Miss  Sally  had  once 
said  she  should  think  it  would  be  dreadful  to  be 
alone  in  the  woods.  There  was  something  which 
frightened  her  about  the  bare  heart  of  nature.  Not 
that  Miss  Sally  had  ever  said  the  "bare  heart  of 
nature,"  but  that  was  her  meaning. 

After  a  while,  as  he  sat  there  on  the  fallen  tree 
trunk,  a  tense  stillness  seemed  to  take  possession  of 
him,  which  made  even  the  squirrel  alert  and  anxious. 
The  snow  settled  on  his  shoulders,  and  covered  the 
pile  of  shells  at  the  foot  of  the  hickory.  The  storm 
was  thickening,  and  the  bending  branches  of  the 
blackberry  bushes  were  almost  hidden  by  the  piling 
flakes.  A  whirl  of  white  shut  him  in  upon  himself, 


SIDNEY.  185 

and  in  the  furious  silence  of  the  storm  the  conster 
nation  in  his  soul  clamored  to  be  heard.  Beneath 
the  prayer  of  gratitude  for  Miss  Sally's  love,  with 
which  he  tried  to  stifle  this  tumult,  one  fact  asserted 
itself  and  insisted  upon  a  hearing. 

Robert  Steele's  heart  grew  sick.  How  gray  and 
lark  it  was  here  in  the  woods,  under  the  snow-laden 
ooughs  ;  what  an  unhuman  silence !  He  looked  up 
through  the  branches  and  the  driving  mist  of  flakes 
at  the  leaden  sky.  "  God  ?  "  he  said  in  a  whisper. 
It  was  the  cry  of  the  convict  soul  which  would  es 
cape  from  itself. 

The  face  of  Truth  had  at  last  confronted  him  and 
compelled  his  horrified  eyes ;  he  knew  that  his  self- 
reproach  for  perception  was  an  effort  to  protect  what 
had  never  existed.  He  saw  that  he  had  called  grati 
tude  love,  and  that  he  had  mistaken  pity  for  pas 
sion.  No  wonder  that  the  hopeless  cry  trembled  on 
his  lips  ;  reproach  and  despair,  and  anguish,  all  at 
once.  God  !  why  had  he  been  born,  why  had  he 
been  thrust  into  the  misery  of  consciousness  ?  His 
self-deception  was  the  juggle  of  Fate,  and  the  very 
horror  of  it  was  his  irresponsibility.  If  he  could 
have  blamed  himself  for  having  mistaken  his  emo 
tions,  there  might  have  been  some  comfort  for  him  ; 
but  can  a  man  blame  himself  for  the  curve  of  his 
skull,  which  decides  his  character  before  he  is  born  ? 
Fate  ?  What  is  it  but  temperament !  Helpless  and 
without  hope,  he  contemplated  his  own  nature.  He 
dropped  his  head  upon  his  hands  without  a  sound, 
and  his  very  soul  was  dumb  with  dismay. 

It  must  have  been  an  hour  before  Robert  emerged 


186  SIDNEY. 

from  the  deeper  and  more  selfish  terror  of  self- 
knowledge,  to  cry  out,  with  the  thought  of  the 
wrong  to  Miss  Sally,  "  What  have  I  done  ?  " 

A  long  while  after  that,  he  rose,  the  snow  falling 
from  his  knees  and  shoulders ;  the  squirrel  darted 
back  into  his  nest,  and  far  down  in  the  woods  there 
was  the  skurry  and  flutter  of  frightened  things. 

Robert  had  a  fit  of  sickness  as  a  result  of  that 
morning  in  the  woods  ;  but  there  was  no  return  to 
morphine,  —  the  hour  was  too  great  for  that.  Miss 
Sally  did  not  see  him  for  a  fortnight,  and  when  she 
did  she  said  it  was  no  wonder  he  had  been  ill,  sit 
ting  there  in  the  snow,  for  Alan  had  explained  that 
Mr.  Steele  was  fond  of  the  woods,  especially  in  a 
snow-storm,  and  had  taken  cold  there  ;  for  her  part, 
she  wondered  that  he  escaped  with  nothing  worse 
than  a  sore  throat. 


XIV. 

BEFORE  Kobert  was  really  well,  and  could  go 
back  to  the  pleasant  evenings  with  Miss  Sally  in  the 
yellow  parlor,  April  had  come,  with  swallow  flights, 
and  sweeping  rains,  and  a  hint  of  greenness  on  the 
south  slope  of  the  pasture  beyond  Major  Lee's. 
Miss  Sally  had  missed  her  lover  very  much,  and 
welcomed  him  with  timid  warmth.  She  was  the 
more  affectionate,  perhaps,  because  his  fortnight's 
absence,  apart  from  her  anxiety  about  him,  had 
been  —  she  was  ashamed  to  acknowledge  it  to  her 
own  heart  —  a  strange  relief  (it  is  not  always  easy 
to  live  in  the  exciting  air  of  happiness;  common 
place  monotony  is  really  restful)  ;  and  so  she  was 
very  remorseful  and  very  kind  to  her  lover.  She 
even  told  him,  with  a  blush,  that  she  had  thought 
of  what  he  had  said  of  being  married  in  June,  but 
if  —  if  he  did  n't  mind  —  if  he  had  just  as  lief, 
could  n't  it  be  in  August  ?  The  question  of  living 
at  the  major's  afterwards  had  never  been  settled, 
because  Robert  had  never  thought  of  it  seriously ; 
but  Miss  Sally  made  haste  to  drop  the  subject  of 
marriage,  lest  it  might  have  to  be  discussed.  She 
knew  quite  well  what  she  wanted,  but  she  knew  also, 
by  experience,  that  it  was  extremely  unlikely  that 
her  wishes  would  govern  her  circumstances.  She 


188  SIDNEY. 

began  to  chatter  her  small  news  :  Alan  had  scarcely 
been  to  see  them  since  Robert's  illness,  and  she  was 
puzzled  to  know  why  ;  Mrs.  Paul  had  taken  Scarlett 
and  gone  away  for  a  fortnight's  visit  (Miss  Sally, 
anxious  to  be  agreeable,  did  not  add  that  Mrs.  Paul 
had  declared  that  she  should  die  if  she  had  to  live 
among  idiots  any  longer)  ;  John  Paul  had  told  the 
major  that  he  was  going  to  leave  Mercer  by  the 
middle  of  May,  to  enter  a  newspaper  office  in  the 
city ;  she  had  seen  Miss  Katherine  Townsend  quite 
often.  "  How  pleasant  she  is  !  "  she  said,  her  face 
beaming.  "  Once  she  met  John  Paul  here,  and  it 
seems  they  know  each  other."  It  would  interest 
Robert,  Miss  Sally  thought,  to  talk  about  his  cousin. 
Katherine  had  been  so  cordial  and  so  sweet,  and  her 
manner  betrayed  such  pretty  deference,  that  Miss 
Sally's  easily  affectionate  heart  had  been  quickly  won. 
Of  course  she  could  not  see  what  a  pathetic  little 
creature  she  seemed  in  Miss  Townsend's  eyes,  or 
know  that  during  the  walk  home  with  John  Paul, 
after  that  meeting  at  the  major's,  pity  which  was 
almost  pain  kept  the  girl  in  unexplained  silence, 
which  caused  Mr.  Paul  much  anxiety.  Indeed,  as 
he  went  back  to  town  alone,  he  became  very  gloomy, 
and  did  not  even  notice  Eliza  at  the  window  of  the 
toll-house,  so  her  heart  ached  also.  It  is  easy  to 
circumscribe  a  cause,  but  who  can  tell  how  far  the 
effect  will  travel  ?  •  Robert  Steele  had  made  the 
gravest  mistake  a  man  can  make,  and  here,  in  the 
parlor  of  the  old  toll-house,  Eliza  Jennings  cried 
until  she  could  scarcely  see. 

Eliza's  pain  of  unrequited  love  —  it  was  thus  she 


SIDNEY.  189 

expressed  it,  uncomforted  by  hot  muffins  and  cups 
of  strong  tea  —  had  made  her  pine  more  than  ever 
to  confide  in  some  one.  That  impulse  to  confide 
generally  strikes  outside  the  family  circle ;  perhaps 
one's  family  sees  too  clearly  the  extenuating  circum 
stances,  and  offers  comfort  too  readily.  The  easy 
consolation  of  those  who  know  us  is  dishonor  to  our 
grief,  and  it  is  natural  to  appeal  to  a  stranger  for 
sympathy. 

In  this  connection,  Eliza  thought,  as  she  had 
thought  many  times  before,  of  Miss  Katherine 
Townsend.  Mrs.  Jennings  might  share  her  joys, 
but  Eliza  could  not  bear  to  display  her  sorrows  to 
the  maternal  eye.  It  was  very  well  to  tell  her 
mother  that  she  had  had  a  talk  with  Mr.  Paul  at  the 
toll-house  window  ;  or  that  he  had  asked  her  for 
some  crocuses  from  her  garden  border  (which  he 
had  made  haste  to  give  to  Miss  Townsend)  ;  or, 
most  beautiful  of  all,  that  he  had  overtaken  her  at 
the  other  end  of  the  bridge,  and  walked  across  with 
her,  lifting  his  hat  when  he  left  her.  "  Oh,  ma,  if 
you  could  'a'  seen  the  way  he  lifted  his  hat !  " 
Upon  that  occasion,  Eliza  had  been  so  dazed  with 
happiness  that,  as  she  came  into  the  house,  she 
almost  tumbled  over  her  mother,  who  had  been 
peering  out  of  the  window  at  this  unusual  scene, 
and  she  had  felt  the  sharp  anger  of  one  who  is 
rudely  shaken  out  of  paradise  by  a  blunder  of  her 
own.  But  Eliza's  paradise  was  speedily  regained ; 
she  seated  herself  'by  the  stove,  and,  first  carefully 
turning  her  skirt  back  over  her  knees  that  it  might 
not  be  scorched,  told  her  mother  every  word  of  Mr. 


190  SIDNEY. 

Paul's  conversation.  She  ended  the  recital  with  a 
sigh,  as  though  aware  that  one  kind  of  happiness 
consists  in  understanding  just  when  to  be  miserable. 
She  knew  exactly  what  Mrs.  Jennings'  comment 
would  be,  and  she  knew  also,  in  the  bottom  of  her 
heart,  how  groundless  were  her  mother's  assertions 
that  it  "  would  all  come  out  right ;  "  but  such  know 
ledge  did  not  interfere  with  her  happy  imaginings. 

It  needed  something  real  and  tangible  to  do  that, 
and  the  reality  came  the  afternoon  that  Mr.  Paul 
passed  the  toll-house  without  giving  her  a  pleasant 
nod  and  smile.  Eliza  treasured  this  grief  for  many 
days.  It  put  a  certain  life  into  her  sentimentality, 
and  gave  her  some  genuine  pain.  The  entries  in 
violet  ink  in  the  diary  became  shorter  as  this  small 
reality  crept  into  them.  It  is  not  impossible  that 
under  such  unnatural  and  artificial  conditions  a 
sickly  sort  of  love  can  actually  be  created ;  or 
rather,  as  love  has  no  varieties,  but  many  resem 
blances,  a  very  good  imitation  can  spring  from 
such  circumstances.  Eliza's  round  face  was  really  a 
little  pale  under  her  freckles,  in  those  first  soft 
spring  days ;  as  the  daffydowndillies  and  hyacinths 
pushed  their  green  tips  through  the  cold,  wet  ground 
in  the  toll-house  borders,  her  eyes  seemed  to  grow 
large  and  her  lips  took  a  pitiful  droop.  She  began 
to  spend  much  time  in  looking  at  the  river,  now 
very  high  with  the  spring  rains,  or  in  walking  about 
the  winding  paths  of  the  garden,  stopping  to  lean 
her  elbows  on  the  white  gate  and  stare  down  the 
road  or  along  the  bridge  ;  in  fact,  she  was  thor 
oughly  enjoying  the  misery  of  sentiment. 


SIDNEY.  191 

It  is  not  only  the  young  man's  fancy  which  is 
affected  by  the  spring  ;  the  sunshine  and  the  softly 
blowing  winds,  the  scudding  ripple  on  the  river's 
breast,  the  nod  of  the  daffodils  and  the  brimming 
gold  of  a  crocus  cup,  touch  the  young  woman's 
heart,  too,  and  then  a  confidante  becomes  absolutely 
necessary.  So  it  happened,  when,  on  one  of  these 
wonderful  spring  days,  Miss  Townsend  came  to  give 
Eliza  her  music  lesson,  and  noticed  with  a  kindly 
word  the  paleness  of  her  pupil's  face,  that  Eliza's 
misery  sprang  to  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  that  unhappy !  "  She  swung  round  on 
her  music-stool,  and  put  her  hands  up  to  her  eyes. 
Mrs  Jennings  chanced  to  be  out,  so  there  was  noth 
ing  to  check  the  stream  of  confidences,  long  re 
strained  and  swelling  for  expression. 

"  Why,  you  poor  little  Eliza !  "  said  Miss  Town- 
send.  "  Something  troubles  you  very  much  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  goodness,"  sobbed  the  pupil,  "  I  guess 
it  does !  " 

"  Can't  I  help  you  ?  "  Katherine  asked.  She  was 
distressed  to  see  the  little  milliner  so  unhappy,  but, 
as  she  spoke,  she  thought,  vaguely,  how  impossible 
it  was  to  judge  by  the  outside  of  things.  She  would 
never  have  connected  anything  so  great  as  grief  with 
the  life  in  the  toll-house ;  it  had  seemed  to  her  too 
full  of  drowsy  satisfaction  to  feel  the  spur  of  sorrow. 
Geraniums  were  always  glowing  on  the  white  win 
dow-sills  of  the  little  sitting-room,  and  the  rippling 
light,  striking  up  from  the  river,  played  in  a  sleepy 
rhythm  back  and  forth  across  the  low  ceiling  ;  the 
cheerful  warmth  which  danced  out  from  the  isinglass 


192  SIDNEY. 

windows  of  the  stove,  and  shone  on  the  keys  of  the 
family  organ  and  on  the  lithographs  upon  the  walls, 
told  only  of  content ;  everything,  Katherine  had 
thought,  was  as  comfortable  as  the  big  feather  cush 
ion  in  Mrs.  Jennings'  rocking-chair.  Heartache 
was  incongruous  in  such  a  room.  "  Tell  me  about 
it,"  she  said,  with  good-natured  amusement,  for  the 
sense  of  incongruity  is  hostile  to  reverence. 

"  I  'm  —  I  'm  so  unhappy  !  "  Eliza  answered  with 
a  gasp.  "  I  'd  —  like  to  ask  your  advice,  Miss 
Townsend." 

"  Have  you  asked  your  mother's  advice  ?  "  ("  Can 
it  be  that  Mrs.  Jennings  does  not  approve  of  Job 
Todd  ?  "  Katherine  wondered.) 

As  for  Eliza,  she  was  trembling  with  joyous 
excitement ;  the  moment  had  actually  come,  —  she 
was  going  to  tell  Miss  Townsend!  She  rose  from 
the  revolving  stool,  and  motioned  her  teacher  to 
take  Mrs.  Jennings'  big  chair,  —  which,  however, 
Miss  Townsend  declined,  —  and  then  she  flung  her 
self  down  on  a  hassock,  and  once  more  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands.  "  Ma  don't  know  anything  about 
it,"  she  declared,  with  filial  indifference.  "  I 
could  n't  tell  any  one  but  just  you,  and  I  want  you 
to  advise  me." 

"  Your  mother  ought  to  know  whatever  troubles 
you,"  Katherine  said,  with  kindly  sternness,  "  but 
tell  rne,  and  let  me  see  if  I  can  help  you." 

"  Miss  Townsend,  I  don't  know  what  you  '11  think 
of  me,"  Eliza  answered,  from  between  her  fingers, 
"  but  I  —  I  'm  in  love,  Miss  Townsend  !  " 

Katherine's    smile    was    like    sudden     sunshine. 


SIDNEY.  193 

"  That  ought  to  make  you  happy,  if  he  is  a  good 
man  and  your  mother  approves  of  him." 

"  Yes,"  Eliza  quavered,  "  only  he  —  he  don't  care 
anything  about  me  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Katherine  blankly.  So  this  was 
how  unhappiness  might  come  to  the  toll-house.  Job 
was  unfaithful !  "  If  he  does  not  love  you  any 
longer,  you  must  try  not  to  think  of  him,  my  dear." 
She  was  really  very  sorry  for  her  pupil. 

"  Yes,  but,"  explained  Eliza,  wiping  her  eyes  and 
looking  up  in  her  earnestness,  "  he  never  did,  you 
see." 

"Never  did?" 

"  Care,  I  mean  ;  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I 
thought  you  would  advise  me." 

"  But  I  don't  see  what  advice  there  can  be." 

"  Oh,"  the  girl  cried,  wringing  her  hands,  "  don't 
you  see  ?  I  don't  know  what  to  do !  " 

"  I  should  n't  think  there  was  anything  to  do," 
Katherine  answered,  really  puzzled.  "  But  if  it  is 
Job  Todd,  I  am  sure  you  are  mistaken,  and  it  will 
all  come  out  right ;  I  know  that  he  "  — 

"  'Taint  him,"  interposed  Eliza  briefly. 

"  Then,"  Katherine  said,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  the  only  thing  for  you  to  do,  whoever  it  is,  is  to 
put  him  right  out  of  your  mind." 

"  Do  you  think  it 's  wrong  to  love  him,  if  he  don't 
love  me  ?  "  Eliza  persisted,  in  a  broken  voice. 

Katherine  hesitated.  It  was  not  wrong ;  it  might 
even  be  very  great,  but  not  in  Eliza.  How  could 
she  explain  it  ? 

"Not  wrong,  but-- 1  don't  think  I  would." 


194  SIDNEY. 

The  poor  little  creature  on  the  hassock  was  really 
so  miserable  that  Katherine  felt  like  putting  her 
arms  around  her  and  bidding  her  dry  her  eyes  ;  had 
she  done  so,  the  frightened  pleasure  of  it  would 
probably  have  banished  her  romance  from  Eliza's 
mind,  at  least  for  the  moment.  "  If  he  cared  for 
Another,"  she  protested,  "  it  would  be  different.  I 
would  —  I  would  tear  him  from  my  heart." 

"  Certainly,"  Katherine  agreed  ;  "  but,  anyhow, 
you  must  try  to  put  it  all  aside,  and  "  — 

"  I  thought,"  interrupted  the  other,  —  she  was  so 
impressed  with  the  importance  of  the  occasion  that 
she  actually  dared  to  interrupt  Miss  Townsend,  — 
"  that  may  be  you  'd  know  if  —  if  there  was  any 
other  young  lady.  You  know  him." 

"  I  have  no  idea  whom  you  mean  ;  but  don't  you 
see  ?  —  that  is  his  affair,  not  yours  nor  mine.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  just,  cheerfully,  to  make  your  life 
richer  and  better  by  giving,  or  else  to  forget  it,  and 
that  is  far  the  wiser  way." 

"  But  how  ? "  And  after  all,  the  question  was 
very  pertinent. 

"  Be  a  sensible  girl,  and  do  your  duty,  and  "  — 

"  It 's  Mr.  John  Paul,"  observed  Eliza,  in  a  sort 
of  parenthesis. 

Katherine  Townsend  had  risen,  meaning,  with  one 
or  two  cheerful,  friendly  words,  to  bring  this  con 
versation  to  an  end  ;  but  she  was  so  absolutely  dum- 
founded  that  she  stood  for  an  instant  with  parted 
lips  staring  at  the  figure  on  the  hassock. 

"  I  thought,"  proceeded  Eliza,  "you  'd  know  if  he 
was  waitin'  on  anybody ;  for,  of  course,  if  he  is,  I 
must  —  tear  him  from  my  heart !  " 


SIDNEY.  195 

Katlierine's  impulse  to  laugh  made  her  face  scar 
let,  but  she  was  conscious  of  a  perfectly  unreason 
able  anger.  She  sat  down  again.  "  I  am  ashamed 
of  you,  Eliza,"  she  said  sharply.  "  Mr.  Paul  is  — 
you  know  very  well,  Mr.  Paul  is  not  in  your  station, 
and  it  is  absurd  and  immodest  for  you  to  think 
about  him  in  this  way." 

At  the  change  in  her  voice,  Eliza  looked  up,  half 
frightened.  "  Is  —  he  waitin'  on  somebody  —  is  he 
engaged  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  Katherine  answered,  after 
an  instant's  pause,  "  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  Mr.  Paul  is  a  gentleman,  and  you  will  probably 
never  know  him ;  he  would  certainly  never  think  of 
you  in  any  such  way.  Now,  don't  be  a  silly  girl. 
Just  put  this  whole  matter  out  of  your  mind.  I  shall 
not  respect  you  if  you  give  it  any  more  thought." 

"  I  do  know  him  !  He  's  been  in  an'  taken  a  cup 
of  tea.  I  know  him  real  well,  Miss  Townsend.  He 's 
walked  over  the  bridge  with  me,  an'  he  's  just  as 
kind"  — 

"  Of  course  he  is  kind  ;  but  don't  you  understand  ? 
Mr.  Paul  is  kind  to  every  one,  and  you  have  no 
right  to  think  of  him  —  in  that  way.  Try  to  be 
sensible,  Eliza." 

Katherine  was  aware  that  she  was  unjust,  and 
that  her  lofty  thoughts  of  the  greatness  of  giving 
were  somehow  blotted  out ;  so,  as  she  opened  the 
door  to  go,  she  tried  to  throw  some  sympathy  into 
her  voice.  "  Now,  don't  cry ;  just  see  how  foolish 
you  have  been.  It  is  n't  worthy  of  you.  There  ! 
Promise  me  you  '11  not  think  of  it  again."  She  went 


196  SIDNEY. 

back,  and  rested  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder  with 
a  kindly  touch. 

This  moved  Eliza  so  much  that  she  gasped  out, 
"  I  '11  try —  but  it  is  n't  any  use  —  but  I  '11  try  "  — 
and  she  even  nodded,  with  a  watery  sort  of  smile, 
when  Miss  Townsend  looked  back  at  her  from  the 
road. 

In  spite  of  a  curious  indignation,  the  absurdity  of 
which  she  could  not  help  recognizing,  Katherine  was 
so  alive  to  the  drollery  of  the  situation  that  she 
laughed  under  her  breath ;  and  when  she  met  Mrs. 
Jennings,  a  little  later,  she  said  "  Good-evening  " 
with  such  smothered  gayety  that  Eliza's  mother  was 
stirred  to  curiosity. 

"  I  'd  like  to  know,"  Mrs.  Jennings  reflected,  wad 
dling  breathlessly  towards  the  toll-house,  "  what 
she  's  got  to  laugh  at,  poor  soul !  "  But  she  was 
to  discover  the  cause  of  Miss  Townsend's  mirth. 
"  Law  !  "  she  said,  standing  still  in  the  doorway,  as 
she  caught  sight  of  her  daughter  rocking  and  sob 
bing  in  the  big  chair,  "  what  is  it,  'Liza?  You  give 
me  such  a  turn  !  " 

It  was  some  time  before  Eliza  could  tell  her,  and 
all  the  while  Mrs.  Jennings  sat  in  her  big  fur- 
trimmed  jacket,  only  loosening  her  bonnet-strings 
and  taking  off  her  gloves.  She  was  far  too  excited 
to  think  of  her  own  comfort.  To  see  her  Eliza  cry 
ing,  and  swaying  back  and  forth,  and  declaring  that 
she  wished  she  were  dead,  and  refusing  to  say  what 
was  the  matter,  was  anguish  to  Mrs.  Jennings. 

"  Was  it  your  music  lesson  ? "  she  cried,  in 
despair.  "  Did  n't  you  know  it  ?  Did  she  scold 
you,  'Liza?" 


SIDNEY.  197 

That  opened  the  flood-gates  ;  with  tears  and  sobs 
Eliza  confessed  that  she  had  told  Miss  Townsend 
about  Mr.  Paul.  "  An'  she  said  that  he  'd  never 
look  at  me  — 'cause  he  was  rich  an'  I  was  poor,  an' 
there  was  n't  no  use  to  think  of  him  —  an'  so  —  an' 
so"  — 

She  was  really  incoherent  by  this  time,  but  Mrs. 
Jennings  could  not  discriminate  between  grief  and 
hysterics.  She  was  beside  herself  with  anger. 

."  So  that  was  what  she  was  laughin'  at,  the  hussy ! 
Not  another  lesson  do  you  take  from  her,  do  you 
hear  that?"  In  her  excitement,  she  flung  her  bon 
net  down  upon  the  floor,  and  tore  her  jacket  open  at 
the  throat  for  breath  ;  her  face  was  purple.  "  The 
like  of  her  to  say  he  would  n't  look  at  you  !  She 
wants  him  herself,  so  she  does.  I  '11  tell  her  so  to 
her  face,  —  a  miserable  music  teacher !  " 

"  Ma  !  "  expostulated  Eliza.  u  She  was  just  as 
kind  "  - 

"  The  idea  of  telling  her,  any  way  !  "  burst  out 
Mrs.  Jennings.  "  You  ain't  got  a  proper  pride, 
'Liza,  —  you  don't  know  your  place.  Telling  such 
a  person  as  her  —  I  'in  ashamed  of  you  !  But  I  '11 
see  to  her,  just  trust  me,  —  trust  your  mother,  lovey, 
poor  lamb,  poor  dear !  " 

She  lifted  her  baby  in  her  big  trembling  arms,  to 
soothe  her  upon  a  bosom  which  held  a  flame  of 
maternal  love  as  true  and  tender  as  though  she  had 
been  as  slight  and  subtile  as  any  wiser  mother.  But 
though  she  comforted  Eliza,  and,  a  little  Liter,  still 
in  the  heavy  jacket,  brought  her  a  steaming  cup  of 
tea  and  a  wedge  of  cake,  she  was  rowing  and  doubt- 


198  SIDNEY. 

ing  at  once  in  her  own  heart ;  even  while  she  was 
assuring  her  daughter,  now  able  to  sit  up,  and  eat 
and  drink,  that  she  "  knowed  the  ways  of  men  — 
and  if  she  was  n't  very  much  mistaken  —  well !  "  she 
had  a  vague  and  awful  fear  that  her  first  absurd 
charge  was  true,  and  the  "  hussy  "  wanted  him  for 
herself.  Yes,  and  might  get  him,  too  !  "  Ain't  he 
always  a-walkin'  over  the  bridge  with  her?"  she 
groaned,  when  she  went  out  to  the  pantry  for  an 
other  piece  of  cake  for  her  darling ;  "  though  he  ain't 
gentleman  'nough  to  pay  the  toll  for  her !  Well, 
she  's  welcome  to  such  meanness.  'Liza  would  n't 
have  him.  But  I  '11  see  to  her  ;  she  sha'n't  get  him, 
—  so  there  !  "  And  then  aloud,  "  Here,  lovey,  now 
eat  a  bit  of  cake,  darliri' ;  there,  my  heart,  it  '11 
be  all  right,  lovey !  " 


XV. 

As  Miss  Sally  had  said,  Alan  had  not  come  to 
the  major's  very  often  during  Robert's  illness.  The 
doctor's  care  for  the  sick  man  explained  this  per 
fectly  to  Miss  Sally,  but  there  was  another  rea 
son.  Alan,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  was  find 
ing  decision  so  difficult  that  he  was  deterred  from 
action.  He  had  been  uncertain  many  a  time  be 
fore,  and  found  it  hard  to  make  up  his  mind  ;  but 
when  this  had  been  the  case,  he  had  always  said 
gayly,  "  I  '11  drift.  Fate  must  decide  for  me  ;  "  and 
generally  he  was  well  content  with  Fate.  But  he 
had  come  to  a  point  now,  when  this  could  not  be ; 
he  must  keep  his  life  in  his  own  hands,  he  must  de 
cide  for  himself.  And  these  hours  with  Robert 
Steele  were  his  opportunity. 

"  What  is  the  right  thing  to  do  ?  "  he  asked  him 
self  again  and  again.  He  knew  now,  with  all  his 
happy  heart,  that  he  loved  Sidney  Lee.  The  know 
ledge  had  come  to  him  in  that  midnight  when  he 
felt  that  he  might  die  from  the  strain  and  shock 
of  his  plunge  into  the  river.  It  is  the  thought  of 
death,  the  realization  of  the  poverty  of  an  eternal 
lull  which  opens  the  eyes  to  the  treasures  of  life. 
Before  this,  Alan  had  been  alternately  charmed  and 
antagonized  by  Sidney's  attitude  towards  life.  Her 


200  SIDNEY. 

father's  view  he  regarded  merely  as  a  most  inter 
esting  expression  of  the  abnormal ;  it  never  oc 
curred  to  him  to  consider  it  seriously.  An  idee 
fixe  he  had  called  the  major's  belief,  and  had  the 
usual  patient,  or  impatient,  amusement  with  which  a 
doctor  regards  such  a  mental  condition.  But,  al 
though  the  unnaturalness  of  Sidney's  ignorance  of 
life  was  almost  repulsive,  her  charm  became  greater 
every  day,  even  while  he  realized  more  forcibly  the 
distance  which  she  placed  between  herself  and  the 
natural  human  instincts. 

With  the  recognition  of  his  own  love,  the  subtle 
antagonism  departed,  and  with  antagonism  his  dis 
may  at  her  tranquil  selfishness,  and  his  approbation 
of  that  beautiful  aloofness  which  had  charmed  him. 
All  which  had  repulsed  now  attracted  him.  Even 
her  selfishness  seemed  natural,  for  was  it  not  herself 
that  she  loved?  Perhaps  love  of  the  same  object 
often  blinds  the  lover  to  selfishness.  But  Alan's 
anxiety 'at  present  had  nothing  to  do  with  character 
or  with  love  itself.  He  was  only  concerned  to  know 
what  course  of  action  was  demanded  of  him  in  view 
of  Mortimer  Lee's  wishes  for  his  daughter's  future, 
and  his  own  position  as  the  major's  friend,  or  at 
least  as  his  trusted  acquaintance.  Over  and  over 
the  doctor  argued  with  himself  that  the  major's 
theories  were  monstrous  and  unnatural.  Sidney 
had  a  right  to  life,  —  which  meant  love,  —  and  he, 
Alan,  had  a  right  to  offer  it  to  her.  Yet  to  betray 
her  father's  trust ! 

He  frowned  and  whistled  in  his  perplexity.  The 
young  man  was  as  confused  in  his  honest  desire  to 


SIDNEY.  201 

see  clearly  as  Robert  Steele  himself  might  have 
been. 

"  If  I  tell  the  major  I  love  her,  and  ask  his  per 
mission  to  tell  her  so,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  will 
only  give  him  a  chance  to  stuff  a  lot  more  pessimistic 
nonsense  into  her  mind,  and  warn  her  against  me ; 
besides,  he  would  probably  show  me  the  door.  Now, 
it  is  n't  fair  to  Sidney  to  treat  her  in  that  way.  I 
think  I  ought  to  speak  to  her  first,  and  then  tell  the 
major." 

Alan  was  perfectly  aware  that  this  was  not  his 
honest  opinion,  though  he  continued  to  assert  that 
it  was.  As  a  result,  he  stayed  away  from  the 
major's,  assuring  himself  each  day  that  he  would  go 
on  the  next  and  warn  his  old  friend. 

He  knew  very  well  —  for  Alan  felt  the  moods  of 
his  friends  as  truly  as  a  sunny  pool  reflects  cloud 
shadows,  and  perhaps  no  more  deeply  —  that  Sid 
ney's  father  was  less  cordial  to  him.  The  major 
himself  did  not  recognize  any  change  ;  he  only  knew 
that  those  words  of  Mrs.  Paul's  were  a  continual 
but  vague  discomfort.  He  watched  Alan  now  very 
closely,  and  with  a  perplexed  and  anxious  look  that 
sometimes  turned  upon  Sidney,  but  never  found  any 
words  of  question  to  the  one  or  of  warning  to  the 
other.  Indeed,  he  did  not  put  what  he  feared  into 
words  even  to  himself ;  to  combat  it  in  his  thoughts 
would  have  been  to  dishonor  his  convictions  by  a 
doubt  of  the  power  of  truth.  But  he  was  depressed, 
and  grew  more  silent  than  ever.  He  fell  into  a 
habit  of  returning  from  the  Bank  by  way  of  the 
great  iron-yards  of  the  rolling-mills  beside  the  river, 


202  SIDNEY. 

which  were  deserted  after  six.  Here  he  walked,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him,  and  his  worn  old  face 
sunk  upon  his  breast,  scarcely  ever  looking  up.  It 
pleased  him  sometimes  to  stop  and  glance  into  the 
sm  el  ting-furnaces,  and  see  the  glow  of  molten  metal 
as  it  was  run  into  bars  of  pig-iron  in  the  sand,  and 
note  the  black  figures  of  the  puddlers  standing 
against  the  fierce  glare  of  red  light,  or  coming  out 
into  the  gray  evening  like  shapes  from  the  mouth  of 
hell.  No  one  noticed  the  old  man  in  the  blue  cloak, 
and  he  could  brood  and  dream  in  his  slow  walk 
without  fear  of  interruption.  But  once,  in  the  keen, 
sweet  dusk  of  an  April  evening,  Alan  Crossan 
chanced  to  see  him  turn  from  the  crowded  street 
towards  the  river  bank  and  the  mill  yards,  and  with 
a  sudden  impulse  followed  him. 

It  had  been  in  the  doctor's  mind,  as  a  part  of  this 
troublesome  question  as  to  whether  it  was  honorable 
to  seek  Sidney  Lee's  love  without  her  father's  know 
ledge,  that  he  would  some  day  discuss  these  absurd 
theories  of  love  and  life  with  the  major  himself.  It 
would  probably  lead  up  to  a  fuller  confidence  ;  but 
in  the  mean  time,  merely  to  plan  such  a  conversation 
seemed  in  some  intangible  way  to  satisfy  his  con 
science  for  not  having  boldly  told  her  father  that  he 
meant  to  win  Sidney's  love  —  if  he  could.  A  dis 
cussion  would  at  least  hint  the  direction  of  his 
hopes,  he  thought ;  and  it  was  something  to  let  the 
major  know  how  foolish,  nay,  how  wicked,  to  his 
mind,  was  such  a  blighting  of  her  life  as  her  father 
proposed.  He  had,  that  very  day,  concluded  to  say 
something  like  this  to  Major  Lee ;  and  with  a  de- 


SIDNEY.  203 

cision  all  his  gladness  had  come  back  again,  and  he 
felt  the  exhilaration  of  a  man  who  has  done  his 
duty  ;  for  the  opportunity  is  a  small  thing,  when 
the  will  is  ready.  But  here  was  the  opportunity, 
and  so  he  made  haste  to  follow  the  major,  his  face 
full  of  anxious  gravity.  Mortimer  Lee's  mind  had 
been  of  late  so  occupied  with  that  miserable  sugges 
tion  of  Mrs.  Paul's  that  when  he  looked  up,  in  an 
swer  to  Alan's  greeting,  and  saw  the  earnest  expres 
sion,  he  felt  a  pang  of  apprehension.  A  forlorn 
dismay  looked  out  of  his  mild  eyes.  But  Alan,  as 
they  began  to  talk,  —  or  rather,  as  he  began  to  talk, 
—  grew  more  cheerful.  The  thought  of  combat 
always  brought  a  fresh  gayety  and  boyish  confidence 
to  his  face,  which  added  to  its  charm  of  indolent 
and  sweet  good-nature.  He  scarcely  waited  for  the 
major's  "  Good-evening." 

"  Major  Lee,"  he  said,  rushing  into  his  subject 
with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  young  knight  who  has 
never  tried  his  armor,  "  I  have  thought  so  often  of 
that  talk  we  had  in  your  library,  one  Sunday  after 
noon  in  the  winter ;  do  you  remember  ?  You  spoke 
of  the  worth  of  life  and  the  folly  of  love,  and,  do 
you  know,  I  think  you  were  all  wrong?" 

If  Alan  had  been  any  less  direct,  his  companion 
would  have  quietly  turned  the  subject.  The  misery 
of  life,  as  he  saw  it,  was  not  a  thing  the  major 
talked  about.  He  had  no  desire  to  prove  a  point ; 
he  had  felt  it.  When  the  grave  had  closed  over  his 
wife,  all  was  said,  and  life  needed  no  comment. 
Talk  for  the  sake  of  talk  was  impossible,  and  the 
fashion  of  the  day  to  protest  .hat  life  was  not  worth 


204  SIDNEY. 

living  was  not  honored  even  by  his  contempt.  The 
young  man's  frank  declaration  that  he  was  wrong 
would  have  pleased  him,  even  had  there  not  been 
something  in  the  young  courage  of  a  fool  which 
touched  him.  Of  course  he  did  not  mean  to  enter 
into  a  discussion,  but  he  put  on  his  glasses  and 
looked  at  Alan  kindly  ;  he  even  smiled  a  little.  He 
had  never  been  so  near  liking  the  doctor. 

"  So  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  think  I  am  wrong,  do 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  Alan  answered  ;  "  and  I  've  been  meaning 
to  ask  you  how  you  account  for  the  desire  to  be 
alive,  even  in  the  greatest  pain  or  misery,  —  we  doc 
tors  see  that  all  the  time,  —  if,  as  you  seem  to  think, 
life  is  not  worth  living ;  and,  also,  how  it  is  that 
those  whose  love  cannot  be  questioned  are  yet  capa 
ble  of  happiness  even  after  death  has  robbed  them  ?  " 

Perhaps  because  Alan  had  for  a  moment  drawn 
his  thoughts  away  from  that  hint  of  Mrs.  Paul's,  and 
he  had  the  kindly  feeling  which  is  a  part  of  relief ; 
perhaps,  too,  because  it  was  not  easy  to  avoid  a  di 
rect  question,  the  major  found  himself  saying  some 
thing  about  the  blind  will  to  live,  in  the  first  place, 
and  the  belief  in  immortality,  in  the  second  place. 

While  he  was  speaking  they  reached  the  street, 
which  was  parallel  to  the  river,  and  were  about  to 
cross  it  and  enter  the  mill  yard,  when  Alan  felt  a 
detaining  hand  upon  his  arm.  Drearily  along  the 
muddy  street  came  a  little  funeral  procession.  Major 
Lee  stood  silently,  with  uncovered  head,  until  it  had 
passed,  and  then  went  on  with  the  sentence  which  it 
had  interrupted. 


SIDNEY.  205 

"  How  genuine  he  is  !  "  Alan  thought,  with  sud 
den  compunction.  For  a  moment  the  young  man 
almost  forgot  the  absurdity  of  remembering  death  in 
one's  plans  for  life. 

They  walked  on,  down  between  the  great  piles  of 
pig-iron,  and  reached  the  high  bank  of  the  river,  but 
there  the  major  seemed  to  hesitate.  u  Am  I  not 
taking  you  out  of  your  way,  sir  ?  "  he  said.  In  his 
own  mind  he  was  wondering  why  in  the  world  the 
young  man  should  choose  this  path  ;  it  did  not  oc 
cur  to  Mortimer  Lee  that  it  might  be  for  the  pleasure 
of  his  society.  The  major  would  not  have  walked 
with  any  one,  save  Sidney,  for  the  pleasure  of  society. 
Nor  did  it  at  that  moment  strike  him  that  to  walk 
with  Sidney's  father  might  be  agreeable  to  a  young 
man. 

"  Not  if  you  will  allow  me  to  accompany  you," 
Alan  answered,  with  that  fine  deference  in  his  voice 
which  was  instinct  and  training  rather  than  reason, 
for  he  was  tingling  with  impatience. 

The  river,  between  banks  of  cinders  which  had 
been  thrown  out  of  the  mills  and  furnaces,  lay  black 
under  the  falling  dusk,  but  was  touched  by  the  wind 
here  and  there  into  a  metallic  sheen  and  lustre.  On 
its  further  side,  beyond  Little  Mercer  and  the  distant 
hills,  the  sky  was  a  pale,  clear  yellow,  that  melted 
up  into  the  violet  of  early  night ;  bars  of  filmy  gray 
were  gathering  in  the  west,  but  in  the  upper  heavens 
they  rippled  into  fading  fire  ;  a  puff  of  brown  smoke 
from  a  great  chimney  drifted  like  a  stain  upon  the 
tranquil  night.  Now  and  then,  from  the  rolling- 
mill  through  the  yard  of  which  they  had  come,  a 


206  SIDNEY. 

flare  of  light  lifted  and  quivered  and  blotted  out  the 
tender  sky  colors,  leaving  only  the  gray  dusk  and  the 
gray  river.  The  very  air  was  a  caress,  and  all  the 
sounds  of  day  came  softened  into  a  tired  murmur. 

The  major  felt  the  peace  of  it,  and  could  have 
wished  that  Alan  had  chosen  some  other  time  to  con 
vert  him  ;  but  doubtless  the  young  man's  intentions 
were  good.  So,  in  answer  to  the  request  to  walk 
with  him,  he  said  patiently,  "  Surely,  surely,"  and 
began  to  calculate  how  soon  the  doctor  would  have 
to  turn  into  the  street  again  to  seek  his  own  home. 

"  This  blind  will  to  live,  of  which  you  speak," 
Alan  began,  "  has,  it  seems  to  me,  a  certain  reason 
ableness  on  the  face  of  it,  and  that  is  what  concerns 
us.  As  you  talked  of  life,  that  night,  you  apparently 
did  n't  consider  any  of  the  pleasures  of  living,  with 
which  the  will  certainly  justifies  itself.  You  did  not 
admit  any  happiness.  Now,  Major  Lee,  there  is 
happiness !  " 

"  You  are  fortunate  in  thinking  so,"  said  Morti 
mer  Lee  absently.  He  had  no  desire  to  convert  the 
doctor ;  he  was  even  glad,  in  a  pathetic  way,  that 
any  one  could  be  so  foolish. 

"  Surely,"  Alan  persisted,  his  eager  young  face 
aflame  with  the  sunset  light,  "  surely  it  is  not  fair, 
in  making  one's  estimate  of  life,  to  leave  out  the  joy 
of  success,  and  of  hope,  and  of  love,  the  gladness  of 
the  senses.  Why,  this  very  sky  and  soft  wind,  the 
ripple  of  the  river  over  that  sunken  slag,  are  so 
beautiful  that  it  is  almost  pain." 

"It  is  pain,"  returned  the  major.  He  was  glad 
that  Alan  had  not  stopped  at  love,  in  summing  up 


SIDNEY.  207 

the  happiness  of  life  ;  he  could  not  have  put  the 
reason  into  words,  but  he  did  not  care  to  talk  of  love 
to  Alan  Crossan  ;  and  for  fear  that  the  doctor  might 
return  to  it,  he  began  to  repeat,  with  quaint  impres- 
siveness  :  — 

"  I  know  not  what  they  mean : 
Tears  from  the  depths  of  some  divine  despair 
Rise  in  the  heart  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  happy  autumn  fields." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  it  is  not  that !  "  said  the  other,  "  for 
the  '  days  that  are  no  more  '  are  not  nearly  so  beauti 
ful  as  the  days  which  are  to  come,"  —  his  face  was 
radiant  at  the  thought  of  those  coming  days.  "  I 
think  that  that  pang  with  which  we  see  beauty  or 
power  is  only  the  assertion  that  we  belong  to  it  all, 
but  are  not  in  it ;  it  is  the  protest  of  the  molecule," 
he  ended,  laughing ;  "  the  instinct  to  melt  into  the 
current  of  life,  from  which  we  have  been  for  a  moment 
separated.  But,  Major  Lee,  I  can't  be  abstract.  I 
think  my  mind  is  inquisitive  rather  than  speculative. 
The  concrete  attracts  me,  the  real  tangible  reasons 
for  thinking  as  you  do,  or  as  I  do." 

The  major  made  no  reply. 

"  You  say  life  is  miserable  because  there  is  death 
in  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  you  don't  take  belief  into 
consideration.  You  forget  the  consolations  of  re 
ligion.  Of  course  I  am  not  stopping  to  argue  for 
the  truth  of  the  belief  in  immortality,  the  belief  in 
God  ;  but  its  comfort  cannot  be  denied.  Well, 
granting  that,  never  mind  what  is  the  fact,  life  is 
good,  and  love  is  wise." 

"  True,"  the  major  agreed  mildly,  "  you  would 
not  be  apt  to  consider  the  fact." 


208  SIDNEY. 

"I  consider  the  peace  and  happiness,"  Alan 
answered  ;  "  I  do  not  care  to  search  too  deeply.  If 
I  am  happy,  I  am  satisfied.  It  is  better  to  have  a 
false  belief  than  none,  and  with  belief  loss  can  be 
borne." 

"  Just  so,"  returned  his  companion,  "  the  truth 
which  makes  us  free  by  no  means  necessitates 
happiness." 

"  Whereas,"  Alan  insisted,  "  your  position  neces 
sitates  imhappiness  !  " 

"  I  cannot  see,"  observed  the  major,  "  that  happi 
ness  or  unhappiness  can  affect  belief ;  because  I 
should  suppose  a  man  must  endeaver  to  believe,  not 
what  makes  him  happy,  but  what  he  thinks  is  true." 

"  I  wonder,"  Alan  said,  "  whether  happiness  is 
not  the  deepest  truth,  and  so  we  believe  in  God,  and 
immortality,  and  love  ?  " 

"  Because  you  prefer  to  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  a  man,  because  I  cannot  help  it ! 
Yes,  and  I  suppose  because  I  prefer  to  ;  at  least,  I 
refuse  to  disbelieve,  and  I  make  myself  as  happy  as 
I  can." 

Major  Lee  looked  about  for  escape  ;  this  foolish 
talk  was  as  annoying  as  a  cloud  of  gnats.  But  sud 
denly  a  thought  struck  him  :  he  might  show  the 
young  man,  he  might  prove  to  him  the  folly  of  it  all  ? 
The  boy  was  a  sensible  boy  in  the  main,  and  per 
haps  he  could  be  taught  ?  The  major  began  to  feel 
a  little  glow  of  friendliness. 

"  If  you  are  in  no  especial  haste,  I  should  be  glad 
to  hear  your  views.  May  we  not  stop  here  and  talk 
for  a  little  time  ?  We  shall  suffer  no  interruption  if 
we  go  down  to  the  river  side." 


SIDNEY.  209 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to !  "  cried  Alan,  really  as- 
;ounded  at  what  he  naturally  felt  to  be  the  result  of 
lis  logic. 

They  left  the  mill  yard  and  the  smelting-furnace 

hiiid  them ;  the  river  was  banked  by  slag  which 
bad  been  run  into  great  conical  moulds,  and  then 
flung  out  to  cool  and  crumble  down  by  the  water. 
Upon  one  of  these  moulds  the  old  man  seated  him 
self,  drawing  his  blue  cloak  around  him,  and  resting 
bis  hands  upon  his  stick.  He  waited  a  moment, 
thinking  how  he  might  best  begin,  and  looking  up 
at  the  young  man  standing  against  the  sunset.  Alan 
had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  threw  back  his  head  with 
a  certain  beautiful  joyousness  which  made  it  good 
to  look  at  him.  His  voice  held  the  sound  of  pleas 
ant  thoughts.  The  major's  patience  exhilarated  him. 
He  did  not  wait  for  the  older  man  to  begin,  but  hur 
ried  on  with  his  arguments. 

"  Yes  ;  it  seems  to  me  you  quite  leave  out  this 
ability  of  the  soul  to  be  satisfied,  —  this  power  of  be 
lief  which  makes  it  possible  to  bear  grief ;  and 
there 's  another  thing,  which  I  think  prevents  a 
roally  fair  judgment  upon  the  worth  of  life,  —  you 
dwell  constantly  upon  death,  Now — I  beg  your 
pardon,  but  the  normal  and  healthy  soul  does  not 
consider  death  ;  it  lives  in  the  present,  as  it  was 
meant  to  do." 

The  major  did  not  stop  to  be  amused  at  one  who 
declared  that  he  understood  what  the  soul  was 
"  meant  "  to  do.  "  Does  it  really  seem  to  you  ab 
normal  to  take  a  certainty  into  consideration  in  mak 
ing  your  plans  for  living  ?  "  he  asked. 


210  SIDNEY. 

"  Absolutely  so !  "  Alan  answered,  and  then  hesi 
tated.  "  Perhaps  because,  while  the  consideration 
of  such  a  certainty  may  be  reasonable  enough,  it 
simply  is  not  human.  And  humanity  sets  the  limits 
of  the  normal." 

"  Then  you  would  have  a  man  a  fool,  just  because 
there  are,  it  must  be  admitted,  more  fools  than  wise 
men  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  Hold  on !  I  don't  admit  that  to  forget  death  is 
folly,  —  it  is  merely  sane  ;  and  I  think  that  the  joy 
of  life  —  I  —  I  mean  love,  you  know,  while  it  lasts, 
is  worth  the  pain  of  loss.  Beside,  I  do  believe  in  the 
goodness  of  God,  —  immortality  declares  that ;  and 
if  God  is  good,  the  purpose  of  life  must  be." 

"  Yet,  no  doubt,  even  you  go  through  a  process  of 
reasoning  ?  "  the  major  queried  thoughtfully  ;  "  and 
when  you  say  that  the  grief  of  death  can  be  borne 
because  death  does  not  end  all,  you  prove  the  reunion 
in  which  you  say  you  believe  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Alan  answered,  "  I  prove  it,  at  least  to  my 
own  satisfaction,  by  saying  that  God  is  good." 

44  Ah,  I  see,"  commented  the  other.  "  Life,  which 
is  one  long  endurance  of  sin  and  misery  and  exquis 
ite  suffering,  must  be  compensated  for  by  an  eternity 
of  joy,  or  else  the  Creator  would  be  a  conception  so 
blastingly  cruel  that  men  would  die  at  the  very 
sight  of  the  Frankenstein  they  had  called  into  their 
minds ;  men  must  be  immortal  to  prove  the  morality 
of  God?" 

"  Yes,"  Alan  said  again. 

44  But  observe,"  continued  the  major, 44  your  belief 
in  the  goodness  of  God  rests  upon  your  belief  in  im- 


SIDNEY.  211 

mortality,  and  your  belief  in  immortality  rests  upon 
your  belief  in  the  goodness  of  God.  Admirable 
logic." 

"  But  "  —  Alan  began  to  protest,  in  a  confused 
way. 

The  major  stopped  him  with  a  gesture.  "  Now,  if 
you  were  not  so  fortunate  as  to  be  able  to  retain  your 
belief  in  God  and  immortality  in  the  face  of  reason 
and  as  dependent  upon  each  other  (and  there  are 
some  persons  who  are  unable  to  do  so),  may  I  in 
quire  whether  you  would  still  feel  that  life  is 
good?" 

"  I  never  maintained  that  it  was  entirely  good," 
Alan  answered  ;  "  only  that  "  — 

"  Goodness  is  not  comparative,  I  think,"  inter 
rupted  the  other. 

"  Only  that  it  is  worth  having.  It  is  beautiful 
and  precious  because  —  oh,  because,  Major  Lee,  of 
this  very  love  which  you  think  is  an  invitation  to 
sorrow ! " 

The  old  man  had  risen,  and  put  one  lean  white 
hand  on  Alan's  arm ;  he  was  so  earnest  that  his 
voice  shook.  "  Yes,  love,"  he  said,  —  "  love  is  the 
greatest  curse  of  all !  That  is  what  I  wanted  to  say 
to  you.  To  the  man  who  cannot  go  through  life 
with  his  eyes  shut,  who  cannot  summon  the  dream 
of  immortality  to  comfort  him  with  the  thought  of 
reunion,  —  and  there  are  few  who  can  do  that  gen 
uinely,  —  love  is  only  terror  and  misery  beyond 
words.  Love  returns  fourfold  despair,  whatever  ab 
sence  of  pain  there  may  be  in  success,  or  hope,  or 
the  beauty  of  conduct.  Love  is  hell." 


212  SIDNEY. 

Alan  was  shocked  into  silence  ;  the  misery  in  this 
old  face  swept  the  light  assertions  from  his  lips. 
The  yellow  sunset  had  faded,  and  the  fog  was  begin 
ning  to  steal  up  the  river.  Alan  shivered. 

"  This  love,  in  marriage,  what  is  it  ?  Friendli 
ness,  perhaps,  which  commonplace  daily  living  turns 
almost  into  indifference ;  when  it  is  that,  it  is  the 
profanation  of  an  ideal.  Passionate  joy,  which  is 
the  ideal,  and  with  it  the  blackening,  blasting  fear  of 
grief,  or  —  grief  itself.  Then,  in  either  case,  the 
responsibility  of  bringing  new  souls  into  the  world, 
to  suffer;  such  a  responsibility  is  like  your  God's! 
But  what  man  shrinks  from  it  ?  I  know  that  you 
would  say  that  children  make  the  parting  between 
husband  and  wife  less  terrible ;  it  may  be  so,  some 
times  ;  but  at  what  a  cost  to  the  child !  It  m  ust 
live,  it  must  suffer,  it  must  endure  the  agony  of  the 
fear  of  death.  It  is  a  hideous  selfishness  that 
brings  another  soul  here  to  suffer  !  You  think  that 
I  am  declaring  existence  to  be  a  curse.  I  do  so  de 
clare  it.  The  only  escape  from  the  tragedy  of  con 
sciousness  which  the  caprice  of  the  motiveless  will 
fastens  upon  us,  is  resignation  —  is  the  giving  up  of 
desire  —  is  the  giving  up  of  living.  Resignation ! 
even  your  religion  teaches  that,  disguising  it  beneath 
promises  of  recompense  and  some  future  of  happi 
ness.  Sir,  I  have  studied  life  as  other  men  study 
art  or  nature,  and  I  know  —  listen  to  me,  young 
man,  I  beseech  you  —  I  know  that  the  nearest  ap 
proach  to  what  we  call  happiness  is  negation.  Be 
lieve  me,  Alan." 

The  two  men  stood  motionless  in  the  shadows,  but 


SIDNEY.  213 

Alan  could  see  the  older  man's  face,  and  there  was 
a  look  in  it  which  made  him  turn  away  his  eyes. 
There  is  a  brutal  indecency  in  watching  a  naked 
soul  struggle  in  an  agonized  human  countenance. 

"  But  to  seek  only  freedom  from  pain  is  moral 
suicide,"  he  stammered,  scarcely  knowing  what  he 
said,  "and  a  woman  who  is  cheated  of  her  right 
to  suffer,  of  the  beauty  that  there  is  in  pain,  has  a 
life  deformed  and  "  — 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  other.  "  Young  man,  you  talk 
of  the  beauty  of  suffering?  Because  you  know  no 
thing  about  suffering !  " 

Mortimer  Lee  turned  away;  it  was  time  to  go 
home.  Why  had  he  wasted  his  words  ?  Who  can 
convince  a  youth  ?  Yet  he  would  have  saved  him ; 
there  had  been  a  point  when  he  had  been  really  dis 
interested  in  what  he  said.  He  was  so  absorbed  in 
his  own  disappointment  that  for  a  few  moments  he 
was  unaware  that  Alan  was  still  walking  at  his  side. 
The  young  man's  heart  was  hot  within  him,  the  phy 
sician  was  lost  in  the  lover ;  he  forgot  that  Major 
Lee  was  morbid.  The  human  horror  of  death  and 
the  human  instinct  of  love  each  entreated  him,  and 
he  looked  at  both  with  that  strange  simplicity  which 
comes  when  a  man  forgets  himself  in  the  presence  of 
primal  things.  For  once  he  could  find  no  words. 

It  was  not  until  they  reached  the  major's  gate 
and  were  within  the  little  courtyard  that  he  burst 
out,  "  No,  110,  no !  you  are  wrong.  Love  is  worth 
while.  A  man  can  blind  himself,  he  can  cast  out 
fear,  he  can  be  divinely  happy,  with  belief  or  with 
out  it.  Love  is  enough  ;  we  can  shut  our  eyes  to 
everything  else." 


214  SIDNEY. 

"Until  the  end,  —  until  one  is  taken,  and  the 
other  left,"  the  major  answered. 

As  he  spoke,  the  hall  door  opened,  and  Sid 
ney  stood  upon  the  threshold,  looking  out  into  the 
night.  As  she  saw  the  two  dark  figures  beneath 
the  ailantus  trees,  she  said  under  her  breath,  with 
that  wonderful  intonation  which  was  the  promise 
of  untouched  depths  of  tenderness  in  her  nature, 
"Father?" 

She  came  down  the  steps,  and  took  her  father's 
arm.  "  You  are  coming  in,  Alan  ? "  she  said. 
The  major  stood  as  erect  and  silent  as  though  upon 
the  parade  ground,  but  he  glanced  at  Alan.  The 
young  man  only  shook  his  head  silently,  and  turned 
away  into  the  dark. 


XVI. 

THAT  glimpse  of  a  living  grief  sobered  Alan  into 
patience,  almost  into  reverence,  for  Mortimer  Lee  ; 
indeed,  he  felt  a  pitying  tenderness  for  the  old  man's 
theories  which  the  major  would  have  resented  with 
a  pity  of  his  own.  But  after  a  while  Alan's  own 
hopes  claimed  him,  and  Jie  declared  that  the  way 
was  clear.  The  major  knew,  he  insisted  to  himself, 
that  he  loved  Sidney.  "  I  did  n't  say  it  in  so  many 
words,  but  he  must  know  it,  and  so  I  need  not  feel 
like  a  sneak,"  and  his  courage  and  his  hope  increased 
together.  There  was  nothing  now  to  distract  his 
attention,  or  to  prevent  him  from  going  to  the  ma 
jor's  on  every  possible  excuse.  He  was  well  aware 
that  Sidney's  father  did  not  welcome  him,  and  he 
guessed,  with  the  compassionate  amusement  of  youth, 
that  the  major  did  not  forbid  his  coming  only  be 
cause  that  would  have  seemed  to  doubt  Sidney's 
convictions.  Sidney's  convictions !  What  were  they  ? 
Thistledown,  if  the  breath  of  love  should  touch  her 
lips.  It  was  inconceivable  to  Alan  that  there  should 
be  any  reality  in  an  attitude  of  mind  attained  by 
precept  and  not  experience  (he  admitted  the  major's 
reality  since  that  talk  by  the  river),  and  he  set  him 
self  with  all  Iiis  heart  to  win  a  conscious  look  from 
Sidney's  tranquil  eyes,  a  deeper  flush  on  her  smooth 


216  SIDNEY. 

cheek,  or  one  word  that  was  not  as  impersonally 
kind  as  the  April  sunshine  itself. 

Alan's  absorption  and  happiness,  but  perhaps  still 
more,  the  absence  for  the  first  time  in  many  months, 
of  any  anxiety  about  Robert  Steele,  shut  his  friend 
outside  the  doctor's  life.  "Bob  is  all  right,"  he 
reflected  carelessly,  and  then  had  no  more  thought 
for  him. 

Robert  was  well.  There  had  been  a  physical  re 
bound  after  that  sore  throat  which  had  made  Miss 
Sally  so  anxious,  and  he  was  better  than  he  had 
been  for  years ;  which  was  of  course  a  great  happi 
ness  to  Miss  Sally.  But  that  very  health  was  a 
humiliation  to  him.  There  are  times  when  the  body 
seems  to  flaunt  itself  before  the  sick  and  cringing 
soul.  Robert  was  walking  in  spiritual  darkness; 
he  was  searching  for  his  duty  with  blind  gropings 
into  his  fears.  But  the  blood  leaped  in  his  veins, 
this  spring  weather ;  his  hand  was  steady,  his  eye 
clear;  he  was  a  well  man.  It  is  curious  how  some 
times  the  soul  is  outraged  by  the  body.  Grief  re 
sents  hunger  as  an  insult  to  its  dead  ;  anxiety  flies 
from  sleep  which  pursues  it  with  unwelcome  com 
fort  ;  remorse  turns  its  eyes  away  from  the  soft 
impulses  which  invite  it ;  but  how  often  the  body 
triumphs !  Robert  Steele  felt  a  deeper  shame  for 
his  health's  sake.  And  all  the  while  Miss  Sally 
rejoiced. 

After  that  revelation  of  himself  in  the  woods, 
there  had  come  to  Robert  that  dogged  acceptance  of 
despair  which  is  a  sort  of  peace.  His  duty  to  Miss 
Sally  was  all  he  had  to  live  for,  and  that  meant  the 


SIDNEY.  217 

fulfillment  of  his  engagement.  In  his  eyes,  marriage 
without  love  was  a  profanation,  and  there  had  been 
a  terrible  moment  when  it  seemed  that  he  must  tell 
her  of  his  baseness ;  but  he  had  flung  the  thought 
away  from  him.  It  was  profanation  ;  but  why  should 
he  not  profane  himself  if  it  saved  her  pain  ?  (Robert 
honored  Miss  Sally  too  truly  ever  to  suspect  the 
quality  of  her  love  for  him.)  To  blacken  his  own 
soul  was  a  small  thing,  if  she  could  be  spared  the 
grief  and  humiliation  of  the  truth.  Yet  he  cringed 
at  the  thought,  and,  without  being  aware  of  it,  be 
neath  his  resolution  a  continual  argument  was  car 
ried  on. 

There  were  days  when  this  strange  secondary  con 
sciousness  brought  nearly  to  the  surface  of  his  de 
termination,  the  belief  that  truth  to  Miss  Sally  was 
his  first  and  only  duty.  Truth  to  his  ideal  walked 
unrecognized  beside  that  duty.  But  of  late  this 
hidden  thought  came  boldly  into  his  most  sacred 
moments,  —  came,  saying,  "  Truth  is  God  mani 
fested  in  the  soul.  To  let  silence  lie  to  the  woman 
who  thinks  you  love  her  is  the  cruelest  wrong  you 
can  do  her."  And  Robert,  with  anguish,  admitted 
to  himself  that  this  was  so,  and  the  peace  of  despair 
was  lost  in  the  possibility  of  greater  pain. 

But  he  was,  during  all  this  time,  as  even  Mrs. 
Paul  admitted,  a  most  devoted  lover ;  it  was  she, 
however,  who  detected  a  confession  in  his  devotion. 
To  be  sure,  she  did  not  witness  it,  and  only  knew  of 
it  by  questioning  Sally  Lee,  and  sometimes  Sidney, 
for  she  scarcely  saw  Mr.  Steele.  He  had  made  the 
proper  call  after  the  tea-party ;  then  he  had  been 


218  SIDNEY. 

ill ;  after  that,  he  was  always  ready  with  an  excuse 
when  Miss  Sally  suggested  that  they  should  go  to 
call  upon  dear  Mrs.  Paul.  She  never  did  more 
than  hint  that  they  should  go,  not  having  courage 
enough  to  reproach  her  lover  for  ill  manners,  but 
she  did  hint  quite  constantly  ;  not  because  she  at 
tached  so  much  importance  to  the  conventionalities 
of  life,  but  because  she  was  daily  reminded  of  Mr. 
Steele's  shortcomings  in  this  respect  by  Mrs.  Paul. 

Indeed,  Mrs.  Paul's  desire  to  see  him  was  known 
to  everybody  except  Mr.  Steele  himself ;  for  the 
longer  he  neglected  her,  the  more  generally  was  her 
annoyance  felt ;  what  was  really  anger  at  him  vented 
itself  in  sharp  words  upon  any  subject  to  any  per 
son.  Unfortunately,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  ob 
ject  of  one's  anger  receives  its  expression  ;  expres 
sion  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  most  people.  There 
was  a  collateral  justice,  perhaps,  in  abusing  Miss 
Sally  ;  but  it  was  hard  that  Sidney  should  be  scolded, 
and  the  girl  protested  to  Mr.  Steele,  during  one  of 
their  rare  moments  of  conversation,  —  for  Kobert 
was  quite  right  in  feeling  that  she  avoided  talking 
to  him.  "  You  must  go  to  see  Mrs.  Paul,  Mr.  Steele," 
she  said,  with  a  directness  which  took  away  Miss 
Sally's  breath  — "  she  really  holds  this  entire  family 
responsible  for  your  absence."  And  the  next  after 
noon  Kobert  went. 

He  had  gone  to  the  major's  first,  and  finding  Miss 
Sally  out  thought  that  she  might  be  at  Mrs.  Paul's, 
and  to  go  to  fetch  her  home  would  be  an  excuse  for 
a  very  short  call.  But  Davids,  as  he  announced  him, 
said  that  Mrs.  Paul  was  alone,  and  it  was  too  late 


SIDNEY.  219 

then  for  retreat.  It  came  into  his  mind,  as  he  saw 
her  alert,  keen  face,  that  he  had  "  gone  up  the  wind 
ing  stair,"  and  here  was  the  spider  awaiting  him. 
Her  eyes  lighted  as  he  entered. 

She  had  long  ago  decided  what  she  should  say  to 
him  when  he  came ;  yet  she  approached  her  subject 
so  delicately,  and  by  that  most  subtle  flattery  of 
friendly  silences,  that  Robert  began  to  be  remorseful 
for  having  judged  her  too  harshly.  It  must  have 
been  as  Miss  Sally  said,  that  Mrs.  Paul  had  not  been 
well  that  dreadful  night,  and  that  she  was  kinder 
than  she  seemed.  She  was  entertaining  now;  she 
said  clever  things,  but  forgot  to  be  bitter.  Robert 
almost  enjoyed  the  twenty  minutes  before  she 
touched  on  Miss  Sally. 

"  Oh,  you  expected  to  find  her  here  ?  But  you 
will  never  be  so  ill-mannered  as  to  say  you  did  not 
come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Robert  answered,  with  instant  constraint 
in  his  voice,  "  !•  came  to  call  upon  you,  but  I  hoped 
to  find  her  here,  so  that  I  might  walk  home  with 
her." 

This  evident  desire  to  protest  his  devotion  de 
lighted  Mrs.  Paul ;  she  was  almost  fond  of  him,  be 
cause  of  what  such  a  desire  betrayed,  and  because 
of  the  chance  it  gave  her  to  wound  him.  "  To  be 
sure,  and  how  sorry  she  will  be  not  to  have  waited ! 
She  is  really,  you  know,  the  most  lovesick  person  ; 
and  it  is  n't  becoming  to  a  middle-aged  woman  to 
be  in  love  !  Oh,  come,  now  ;  if  you  take  offense  so 
quickly,  how  will  you  stand  the  jars  of  domestic 
life  ?  And  why  should  you  take  offense  if  I  merely 
say  that  Sally  is  very  much  in  love." 


220  SIDNEY. 

"  Because  you  do  not  speak  as  Miss  Lee's  friend." 
She  made  a  gesture,  which  meant  apologetic 
amusement.  "  No,  no,  you  misunderstand  me,"  she 
said,  watching,  as  though  to  see  how  far  it  was  safe 
to  go,  the  frowning  antagonism  gather  in  his  face. 
u  I  am  Sally's  friend,  her  best  friend,  when  I  say  " 

—  she  hesitated,  with  a  look  of  interest  and  concern 

—  "  that  I  am  sorry  with  all  my  heart  that  she  has 
become  engaged  to  you." 

Robert  caught  his  breath.  Was  she  in  earnest? 
Did  she  really  see  how  despicable  he  was? 

"I  am  not  worthy  of  her,"  he  began  to  say, 
"but"  — 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  answered,  the  restraint  of 
temper  beginning  to  show  in  her  voice  ;  "  no  one  is, 
you  know.  But  what  I  meant  was,  —  I  've  known 
Sally  so  long,  you  must  let  me  say  just  this,  —  it 
has  been  a  mistake  —  of  hers,  we  '11  say,  not  yours. 
She  will  not  be  happy,  —  I  speak  for  her  sake,  — 
she  may  fancy  she  's  in  love  now,  but  she  can't  be 
happy.  Lord  !  an  old  maid  can't  change  her  na 
ture."  Mrs.  Paul  lost  her  patience  and  her  policy 
together.  The  young  man  rose,  with  compressed 
lips.  "  And  would  n't  it  be  better  to  release  her  ?  " 
she  ended. 

Robert  was  shaken  by  that  tumult  of  dismay 
which  comes  when  a  man  sees  what  he  has  thought 

O 

good,  looking  at  him  with  a  devil's  leer,  or  hears  a 
solemn  truth  upon  lips  which  turn  it  into  a  lie.  He 
does  not  stop  to  say  that  the  medium  distorts  it,  and 
that  truth  is  still  true. 

"  That  is  for  her  to  say.     Whatever  she  wishes  of 


SIDNEY.  221 

me,  even  my  happiness,  is  hers.  But  I  dare  to  be 
lieve  that  you  are  mistaken.  I  bid  you  good-after 
noon,  Mrs.  Paul." 

He  hurried  out  of  the  house,  tingling  with   rage 
and  resolution.     He  would  never  see  that  woman 
again  ;  he  would  never  cross  her  threshold  !     And  as 
for  her  vile  suggestion,  —  a  thousand  times  no  !    He 
would  be  true  to  Miss  Sally,  he  would  make  himself 
love  her.     He  thanked  God   that  that  wicked  old 
woman  had  put  his  thought  into   words,  the   pur 
pose  which  he  had  said  to  himself  was  honor.     He 
thanked  God  that  she  had  shown  him  his  own  heart, 
and  torn  the  mask  of  duty  from   the  face  of  the 
hideous  selfishness  which  had  insisted  that  he  must 
toll  Miss  Sally  that  he  did  not  love  her.     Yet  how, 
as  that  conviction  of  duty  had  grown,  silently,  in  his 
mind,  he  had  weighed  his  motives  to  see  whether  he 
was  honest,  —  how  he   had  scanned  each  one  in  an 
agony  of  fear  lest  he  might  find  a  taint  of  self  in  it ! 
Over   and    over   again,    since    he    recognized   those 
unseen  processes  which  revealed  to  him  his  duty, 
had  he  retraced  the  mental  steps  which  led  him  to 
a  terrible  conclusion,  looking  for  a  way  of  escape, 
and  finding  none,  —  believing  all  the  while  that  he 
was  honest.     He  knew  better  now,  he  said.     Mrs. 
Paul  had  confessed  him  to  himself.     He  had  been 
trying  to  find  his  own  freedom,  he  had  been  hiding 
behind  fine  words,  he  had  taken  the  holy  name  of 
honor  upon  his  profane  lips.     "  I  have  lied   unto 
God  !  "  he  groaned. 

He  was  almost  blind  with  terror  and  pain.     He 
did  not  know  that  people  looked   after  him  in  the 


222  SIDNEY. 

street,  with  a  shrug  or  a  half-laugh,  and  a  light  word 
that  he  was  drunk.  Mrs.  Jennings,  toiling  across 
the  bridge,  shrank  away  from  him  as  he  passed  her, 
and  for  a  moment  forgot  her  own  troubles.  His 
loathing  of  himself  was  so  overpowering  that  he  be 
came  indifferent  to  Mrs.  Paul ;  he  had  not  rage  to 
spare  for  her.  But  could  he  have  thought  of  her, 
he  would  have  been  incapable  of  imagining  that  the 
pleasure  of  having  implanted  in  his  mind  the  seed 
of  what  she  must  have  felt  was  dishonor,  had  left  her 
delightfully  amiable,  —  so  amiable  that  when  Davids 
told  her  there  was  a  person  in  the  hall  who  wished 
to  see  her,  she  nodded  to  him  in  a  gracious  way,  and 
said,  — 

"  Very  well,  Davids." 

"  It  is,"  Davids  observed,  his  eyebrows  well  lifted 
and  his  voice  full  of  condescension,  "  the  bridge  per 
son,  I  believe." 

"  Very  well,"  Mrs.  Paul  said  again,  pleasantly. 
"  She  wants  some  help,  no  doubt."  She  smiled 
archly  as  the  man  left  her.  "  Lord !  what  fools, 
what  fools  they  are !  They  can  be  led  about  like 
animals.  Of  course  he  was  angry,  but  he  '11  do  it." 

She  looked  up,  still  smiling,  to  see  Mrs.  Jennings 
entering  with  heavy  awkwardness.  Davids,  stand 
ing  flat  against  the  baize  door  to  keep  it  open,  was 
regarding  the  woman  with  an  intolerable  indifference, 
which  so  confused  her  that  she  forgot  to  make  the 
decent  bow  she  had  planned,  and  was  filled  with  the 
wordless  fury  of  a  vulgar  woman.  "  As  though  I 
did  n't  know  him  'fore  he  was  in  breeches !  "  she 
thought.  But  by  the  time  she  had  seated  herself 


SIDNEY.  223 

and  said  "  Good-evening,"  and  made  a  remark  about 
the  weather,  she  was  more  composed.  She  panted  a 
little  and  swallowed  hard  before  she  began  to  speak, 
—  perhaps  because,  although  she  had  thought  of  this 
scene  for  days,  she  really  did  not  know  what  to  say. 
She  hardly  knew  why  she  had  come.  A  blind  im 
pulse  to  do  something  for  her  little  'Liza  had  made 
her  resolve  that  she  would  "  see  his  mother  and  stop 
him  breakin'  of  her  girl's  heart."  Her  daughter  did 
not  know  of  her  intention.  Eliza  was  too  interested 
in  her  own  grievances  to  take  much  thought  of  the 
pain  her  mother  suffered  for  her  sake.  Mrs.  Jen 
nings'  rage  at  Miss  Townsend  had  found  an  echo  in 
Eliza's  soul ;  she  was  full  of  that  stinging  anger 
which  is  really  shame,  and  which  follows  bursts  of 
unnecessary  confidence. 

"  Oh,  why  did  I  tell  Miss  Townsend  ?  "  she  asked 
herself  a  dozen  times  a  day,  with  a  pang  of  humilia 
tion  which  sent  the  tears  into  her  eyes.  As  is  the 
rule  in  such  cases,  the  revenge  Eliza  took  caused  her 
as  much  suffering  as  she  hoped  it  might  cause  her 
victim.  She  decided  to  give  up  her  music  lessons. 

"  Miss  TOWNSEND,"  —  she  wrote,  —  "I  ain't  go 
ing  to  take  any  more  lessons.  You  can  send  your 
bill.  Miss  JENNINGS." 

Mrs.  Jennings  approved  of  this  note,  though  she 
would  have  been  glad  if  Eliza  had  said  right  out 
that  she  considered  her  music  teacher  a  meddlesome 
hussy.  The  only  relief  the  poor  mother  had  was  to 
abuse  Miss  Townsend,  which  abuse  blew  up  a  great 
flame  of  wrath  out  of  her  almost  imperceptible 
material,  —  so  imperceptible,  in  fact,  there  was 


224  SIDNEY. 

danger  that  it  would  burn  out  before  she  could  put 
it  into  words,  here  in  Mrs.  Paul's  presence.  So 
Davids'  supercilious  looks  were  really  most  helpful, 
although  for  the  moment  they  made  her  forget  how 
she  had  intended  to  tell  her  story.  There  was  a 
blown  and  breathless  appearance  about  her,  as  she 
sat  upon  the  edge  of  her  chair,  looking  at  Mrs.  Paul. 
Her  small  crepe  bonnet  was  very  far  back  upon  her 
head,  and  her  large  and  anxious  face  was  mottled 
with  rising  color.  Her  hands,  covered  with  those 
unpleasant  gloves  the  fingers  of  which  are  gathered 
into  a  little  bag,  tied  and  untied  the  cord  about  the 
waist  of  an  umbrella,  which  she  held  between  her 
black  bombazine  knees. 

"  Well,  my  good  woman  ?  "  Mrs.  Paul  interro 
gated,  adjusting  her  glasses  and  crossing  her  feet 
with  lazy  comfort ;  her  gown  rustled,  and  then  fell 
into  soft  gleaming  folds. 

'•  Ma'am,"  replied  her  visitor,  swallowing  once, 
"  my  name  is  Jennings,  —  Mrs.  Asa  H.  Jennings." 

"Yes?"  said  Mrs.  Paul. 

"  An'  I  Ve  come  to  see  you,"  proceeded  the  other, 
her  voice  growing  louder.  "  I  've  been  meaning  to 
come  this  long  time  "  — 

"  Yes  ?  "  This  enormously  stout  woman,  whose 
face  was  quivering  with  emotion,  and  who  had  a 
chin  like  the  folds  of  an  accordion,  was  really  very 
droll.  Nor,  for  once,  was  Mrs.  Paul  more  cruel 
than  the  rest  of  the  world.  Emotion  which  tries  to 
express  itself  through  a  weight  of  flesh  does  not 
often  reach  the  sympathies  of  the  beholder. 

"Yes,  I  've  been  meanin'  to  come,  for  I  've  some- 


SIDNEY.  225 

thing  to  say.  I'm  sorry  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad 
news.  I  ain't  one  that  likes  to  tell  unpleasant 
things ;  no,  nor  gossip ;  no,  nor  make  trouble  in 
families." 

"Of  course  ;  I  think  I  know  exactly  how  much 
you  would  dislike  to  gossip,  Mrs.  —  What  did  you 
say  you  were  called  ?  " 

Mrs.  Jennings  supplied  her  name,  and  then,  care 
fully  unwinding  the  cord  from  around  her  umbrella, 
so  that  its  generous  folds  flapped  loosely  about  the 
wooden  handle,  she  said,  "  So  it  ain't  to  make  mis 
chief  I  come,  only  to  tell  the  truth.  I  'm  a  mother 
myself,  an'  I  know  how  you  '11  feel  havin'  some  one 
comin'  an'  findiii'  fault.  But  it 's  truth,  gospel 
truth,  an'  my  'Liza,  she 's  suffered  enough,  so  she 
has !  'T  ain't  only  right  but  what  he  'd  ought  to  be 
made  to  be  different.  'Stead  of  that,  he  's  goin'  to 
see  another  young  lady ;  nothin'  but  a  music  teacher, 
too !  An'  I  made  out  it  was  my  duty  to  come  an' 
tell  his  mother." 

The  lazy  amusement  had  faded  out  of  Mrs.  Pa-ul's 
face. 

"  You  are  referring,  I  suppose,  to  Mr.  John 
Paul  ?  "  she  said. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  am,"  answered  Mrs.  Jennings, 
her  eyes  roving  about  the  room.  "  I  'm  not  one  to 
deny  it.  I  am.  That 's  the  truth,  an'  I  'm  not 
ashamed  to  tell  it.  He  's  been  —  he  's  been  —  my 
'Liza's  heart 's  just  broken.  An'  now  he  ain't  satis 
fied  with  sendin'  her  to  her  grave,  but  he  's  makin' 
up  to  some  one  else.  I  'd  just  as  lief  tell  her  name, 
if  you  want  me  to  ?  " 


226  SIDNEY. 

"  I  will  not  trouble  you." 

"  A  poor,  miserable  music  teacher ! "  burst  out 
Mrs.  Jennings,  "with  two  sisters  and  a  brother 
dependent  on  her.  She  thinks  he  '11  marry  her ;  I 
believe  in  my  soul  she  thinks  he  '11  marry  her.  But 
I  told  my  'Liza  I  guessed  not,  —  not  if  what  every 
body  says  about  you  was  true,  —  I  guessed  not." 

44  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  tapping  her  glasses 
lightly  upon  the  arm  of  her  chair,  "  and  what  is  your 
object  in  coming  here?  " 

Mrs.  Jennings  stared  at  her ;  there  was  a  sudden 
collapse  of  all  her  windy  anger.  What  had  been 
her  object?  What  good  would  it  do,  after  all? 
There  had  been  the  moment's  relief  of  talking  out 

O 

the  pain  of  her  poor  old  heart,  but  what  now  ?  She 
opened  her  lips,  but  she  had  nothing  to  say.  There 
is  something  pathetic  in  the  struggle  of  a  small  soul 
to  grow  great  with  passion.  Mrs.  Jennings  burst 
into  tears,  and  fumbled  in  her  pocket  for  her  hand 
kerchief  ;  not  finding  it,  she  wiped  her  eyes  upon  a 
fold  of  her  umbrella.  "  My  'Liza  "  —  she  sobbed. 

"Oh,"  Mrs.  Paul  said;  "yes,  I  see."  She 
leaned  back  in  her  chair,  with  delicately  knitted 
brows.  "  Well  ?  " 

"  Well?  "  Mrs.  Jennings  repeated  blankly. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  threatened  my  son  with  this 
visit  to  me  ?  " 

"  Ma'am  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jennings. 

"  But  you  have  made  a  mistake.  I  do  not  inter 
fere  with  Mr.  Paul.  You  must  go  to  him  for 
money.  I  shall  not  give  you  any,  you  may  depend 
upon  that." 


SIDNEY.  227 

Mrs.  Jennings  stared  at  her.  "Why,  I  ain't  a 
poor  person ;  I  ain't  in  any  need,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  know  what  "  — 

Then  it  burst  upon  her.  She  rose,  her  lips 
parted,  her  broad  bosom  laboring  for  breath. 

"  Shame  on  you  !  "  she  stammered,  —  "  shame, 
you  bad  woman !  What  are  you  thinking  of  ? 
Money  for  my  'Liza  that 's  had  her  innocent  heart 
broke?  An'  what  kind  of  a  heart  have  you  that 
you  can  think  such  thoughts  of  your  own  son  ?  "  In 
her  honest  and  womanly  anger  her  foolish  jealousy 
of  Miss  Townsend  was  forgotten.  "  You  think  bad 
thoughts  easier  than  good  ones,"  she  cried  shrilly, 
running  her  hand  down  the  staff  of  her  umbrella,  so 
that  it  opened  and  closed  with  her  quickened  breath 
ing.  "  I  come  here  'cause  I  was  most  wild  'bout  my 
'Liza,  an'  to  warn  you  'bout  Miss  Townsend.  Thank 
the  Lord,  my  'Liza  ain't  in  any  danger  of  comin' 
into  such  a  family  !  An'  if  it  was  n't  that  I  'm  a 
Christian,  an'  always  do  as  I  'd  be  done  by,  I  'd  say 
I  wish  't  Miss  Townsend  would  rnarry  Mr.  Paul,  just 
to  bring  your  dirty,  wicked  pride  down  ;  but  she  's 
too  good  for  a  son  of  yours,  if  she  is  poor.  Shame 
on  you  !  "  She  struck  the  floor  with  her  mildewed 
old  umbrella  as  sharply  as  Mrs.  Paul  could  have 
done  with  her  gold-headed  stick. 

"  She  is  poor,  is  she  ?  "  Mrs.  Paul  inquired,  watch 
ing  the  tears  course  down  Mrs.  Jennings'  quivering 
cheeks. 

"  I  have  n't  anything  more  to  say,"  Mrs.  Jen 
nings  responded,  with  a  gasp,  trying  to  tie  her  bon 
net-strings  into  a  tighter  kn:>t  beneath  her  shaking 
chin. 


228  SIDNEY. 

"  But  I  have ;  "  returned  Mrs.  Paul.  "  Of  course 
I  know  very  well  why  you  came  here,  and  if  you  had 
conducted  yourself  properly  no  doubt  something 
could  have  been  arranged.  But  you  have  chosen  to 
gossip  about  Mr.  Paul.  If  you  had  given  your 
attention  to  your  daughter  a  little  sooner,  it  would 
have  been  wiser.  As  for  this  Miss  Townsend,  who 
ever  she  is,  Mr.  Paul  has  no  idea  of  marrying  her, 
and  you  will  never  allude  to  such  a  thing  again ; 
do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  just  exactly  what  I  please  !  "  cried  the 
other,  thrusting  out  her  lower  lip  and  flinging  her 
head  back.  When  Mrs.  Jennings  chose,  with  her 
hands  upon  her  broad  hips,  to  make  this  unpleasant 
gesture,  she  was  the  embodiment  of  insolence. 

Mrs.  Paul  was  furious.  She  rang  her  bell  wildly, 
and  the  savage  jangle,  echoing  through  the  silent 
house,  brought  Davids  running  to  the  parlor  door. 

"  Show  her  out !  "  said  Mrs.  Paul.  "  Show  this 
person  out,  Davids!  " 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  Billy,  don't  trouble  your 
self,  my  dear  !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Jennings  purple  and 
panting.  "  I  would  n't  stay,  I  would  n't  stay,  —  no, 
not  for  all  her  money  ;  no,  nor  I  would  n't  let  my 
'Liza  cross  his  threshold.  An'  I  '11  warn  Miss 
Townsend  against  him,  but  I  hope  he  '11  get  her, 
poor  as  she  is  !  " 

Mrs.  Paul  made  a  motion  of  her  hand  which  was 
unmistakable.  Davids  took  Mrs.  Jennings'  wrist, 
and  before  she  knew  it,  still  railing  and  sobbing,  she 
found  herself  running  with  the  terrifying  speed  of  a 
large  person  down  the  steep  stops  of  the  terrace  and 


SIDNEY.  229 

out  through  the  iron  gate.  She  was  hardly  able  to 
check  her  pace  by  the  time  she  came  to  the  bridge, 
and,  when  she  reached  the  toll-house,  her  knees  were 
still  shaking,  from  such  unusual  exercise. 

Eliza  had  been  watching  for  her  mother,  holding 
back  the  dimity  curtain,  so  that  a  wavering  line  of 
cheerful  light  fell  across  the  road  ;  when  she  saw  the 
familiar  figure  she  hastened  to  open  the  door.  "  The 
tea-table  's  set,  and  the  toast  is  ready,  ma,"  she  said, 
and  then  broke  into  a  cry  of  amazement  at  her  mo 
ther's  face. 

"I  've  been  —  I  Ve  been  "  —  Mrs.  Jennings 
panted,  falling  into  the  big  rocking-chair,  trembling 
very  much,  and  pressing  her  hand  upon  her  side  — 
"  I  've  been  to  his  mother's  —  and  that  woman,  that 
bad,  wicked  woman  " 

"  Whose  mother's  ?  "  said  Eliza  faintly.  "  His  f  " 
She  had  run  and  fetched  the  toast  from  the  kitchen, 
but  in  her  agitation  she  put  the  plate  down  among 
the  geraniums  on  the  window-sill. 

Mrs.  Jennings  nodded.  She  tried,  with  clumsy 
gloved  fingers,  to  unfasten  her  bonnet-strings,  and 
looked  appealingly  at  Eliza  for  help,  but  her  daugh 
ter  was  too  excited  to  be  dutiful. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  ma,  every  word,  quick  !  " 

Mrs.  Jennings,  her  voice  still  unsteady,  told  her 
story ;  at  least  part  of  it.  She  could  tell  Eliza  that 
her  mother  had  been  insulted,  but  she  could  not  soil 
her  daughter's  mind  with  Mrs.  Paul's  suspicion. 
When  she  stopped  for  breath  Eliza  burst  into  tears  ; 
in  vain  Mrs.  Jennings  tried  to  soothe  her  ;  she  had 
nothing  but  sobbing  reproaches  for  her  mother. 


230  SIDNEY. 

"  I  don't  know  what  in  the  world  you  went  for, 
anyhow,"  she  wailed,  "  an'  I  don't  see  that  you  said 
anything,  either.  Don't  seem,  somehow,  as  if  there 
was  any  point  in  it,  an'  I  '11  never  hold  up  my  head 
again.  Oh,  mother,  how  could  you  do  it,  —  how 
could  you  ?  " 

"  But,  'Liza,"  quavered  Mrs.  Jennings,  "  I  did  n't 
mean  no  harm  ;  I  only  meant  —  I  only  meant  "  — 

"  You  've  disgraced  me.  She  '11  tell  him,  and 
what '11  he  think?" 

Even  as  she  spoke  a  vision  of  Job  Todd  came  into 
little  Eliza's  mind  :  partly  because,  in  this  sudden 
light  of  common  sense,  her  sentimental  fancies 
showed  their  real  value,  and  were  almost  blotted 
out ;  and  partly  because  she  reflected  that  if  she 
"  took  Job,  why,  then  he  'd  never  know  anything, 
even  if  his  mother  did  tell  him !  " 

Of  course  this  was  all  too  confused  for  words,  but 
Mrs.  Jennings  was  profoundly  thankful  that  Eliza's 
sobs  did  not  continue  very  long  ;  and,  indeed,  she  so 
far  recovered  that  she  was  soon  able  to  sit  up  and 
eat  a  piece  of  toast,  while  shedding  a  few  excited 
tears  into  her  tea-cup  ;  Mrs.  Jennings,  all  the  while, 
hovered  about  her  like  a  ponderous  butterfly.  She 
was  full  of  small  caresses,  and  tender  words,  and 
little  clucking  sounds  of  maternal  love,  but  there  was 
a  mist  of  tears  in  her  fierce  little  eyes.  "  I  was 
never  spoke  to  so  in  my  life,"  she  was  thinking.  "  I 
would  n't  'a'  minded  for  myself,  but  to  think  bad  of 
my  'Liza !  " 


XVII. 

MRS.  PAUL'S  face  was  white  when  Mrs.  Jennings 
left  her,  and  her  hands  shook.  She  could  not  bear 
excitement  very  well,  she  admitted,  impatient  at 
bodily  weakness.  She  smiled  a  little,  and  frowned, 
and  said,  tremulously,  to  herself  that  it  was  outra 
geous  that  such  an  affair  should  have  been  brought 
to  her  ears.  But  by  the  time  Davids,  full  of  care 
fully  concealed  curiosity,  returned  from  ejecting 
Mrs.  Jennings  to  inquire  if  his  mistress  were  ready 
for  lights,  he  found  her  calm  and  almost  agreeable. 

"  When  Mr.  John  conies  in,  say  to  him  that  I 
wish  to  see  him,  Davids,"  she  said  pleasantly ;  and 
Davids,  who  knew  perfectly  well  that  Mrs.  Jen 
nings'  visit  "meant  something,"  pursed  up  Ms 
shaven  lips,  and  went  out  to  the  kitchen  to  say  to 
Scarlett,  "She's  too  polite  to  be  safe,  —  poor  Mr. 
John!" 

But  it  happened  that  John  Paul  was  late,  and  his 
mother  had  no  opportunity  for  conversation  with 
him  before  tea.  He  found  her  at  the  table,  and 
glanced  at  her  with  some  interest ;  for  Davids  had 
had  a  word  with  him  before  he  entered  the  dining- 
room. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  the  man  had  ventured,  stand 
ing  with  a  napkin  over  his  arm,  gravely  watching 


232  SIDNEY. 

John  pull  off  his  overcoat,  "Mrs.  Paul  wished  to 
speak  with  you,  sir  ;  but  that  was  when  she  thought 
you  would  be  in,  in  good  season  for  tea,  Mr.  John." 

The  words  were  simple  enough,  but  there  was  a 
significant  look,  which  John  had  known  from  boy 
hood.  However,  the  threatened  storm  was  not  of 
enough  importance  to  think  about,  and  he  merely 
had  a  moment  of  surprise  at  finding  his  mother 
quite  good-natured.  Indeed,  had  he  come  a  little 
earlier,  this  would  have  been  more  striking.  She 
was  beginning  to  remember  something  that  the 
shocking  old  woman  had  said,  which  was  neither 
amusing  nor  interesting,  —  something  about  a  per 
son  called  Townsend.  This  hint  had  begun  to  as 
sume  annoying  proportions  by  the  time  John  arrived. 
He  had  been  going  to  see  this  young  woman,  had 
he  ?  Who  was  she  ?  The  name  was  familiar,  but 
a  music  teacher?  Johnny  was  always  a  ploughboy ! 
However,  as  he  entered,  she  banished  all  that,  and 
said  her  clever  and  unkind  things  in  a  really  friendly 
way.  Her  son  took  the  trouble  to  be  glad  of  this 
eccentricity,  for  he  had  planned  to  tell  her  that 
night  of  his  intentions  for  the  future.  The  matter 
of  his  interest  in  a  newspaper  of  the  great  city  of 
his  State  had  been  concluded,  and  he  was  to  leave 
Mercer  by  the  middle  of  May,  and,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  go  to  work.  He  was  full  of  enthu 
siasm,  and  full  of  hope  too,  for  the  step  which  was 
to  follow  this,  but  of  which,  of  course,  no  one  could 
know  until  he  had  Katherine's  promise, 

John  Paul  knew  quite  well  that  the  breaking  his 
purpose  to  his  mother  would  not  be  an  agreeable 


SIDNEY.  233 

business,  so  it  was  a  comfort  to  find  her  less  irrita 
ble  than  usual.  He  only  hoped  that  her  amiability 
would  last  until  they  reached  the  drawing-room  ; 
but  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  hurry  through  his 
supper,  that  he  might  assure  himself  of  her  mood. 
Supper  was  far  too  serious  a  matter  to  John  Paul  to 
be  disturbed  by  anything  so  unimportant  as  his 
mother's  temper.  Mrs.  Paul  bore  his  delay  with  a 
patience  which  confused  Davids,  who  was  standing 
behind  her  chair,  and  watching  John  with  an  ex 
pression  of  the  deepest  solicitude. 

"  There  's  something  pretty  bad  up,"  he  said  to 
Scarlett,  when  he  went  out  to  the  kitchen  for  an 
other  plate  of  toast,  —  in  his  sympathy  for  his  mas 
ter,  his  eyebrows  quite  lost  their  supercilious  arch 
upon  his  narrow  forehead,  —  "  something  pretty 
bad.  Maria  Jennings  don't  come  here  and  talk 
about  him,  and  get  put  out,  for  nothing ;  and  she 
ain't  so  smooth  for  nothing,  either.  But,  law  !  I  'm 
glad  he  can  eat.  It's  hard  to  stand  a  woman's 
tongue  on  an  empty  stomach." 

uThe  toast  is  getting  cold,"  Scarlett  observed. 
As  usual,  she  kept  her  opinion  to  herself. 

"  Like  a  woman  !  "  Davids  thought  bitterly,  with 
a  man's  inconsistency  in  regard  to  the  mothers  of 
the  race.  His  curiosity  was  really  anguish  when, 
later,  he  was  obliged  to  shut  himself  out  of  the 
room,  leaving  the  mother  and  son  together.  He  in 
vented  a  dozen  excuses  to  go  back  again,  but  his 
common  sense  stood  firmly  in  the  way,  —  and  Scar 
lett  would  not  hazard  a  single  guess,  or  even  look 
interested  !  Davids  gnashed  his  teeth.  "  Women !  " 


234  SIDNEY. 

lie  said.  "The  world  would  be  a  sight  better  if 
there  was  n't  a  woman  in  it !  " 

Scarlett  turned  her  passive  face  towards  him,  and 
looked  at  him. 

"  See  the  trouble  she  makes  for  Mr.  John,"  the 
man  hastily  explained. 

But  in  spite  of  Davids'  anxiety  and  sympathy, 
John  Paul  was  not  at  all  troubled,  although  towards 
the  close  of  supper  he  had  begun  to  feel  that  there 
was  something  unusual  in  the  air.  His  mother's 
face  had  grown  harder  ;  she  spoke  with  an  increas 
ing  sharpness  ;  there  seemed  to  be  a  deliberate  prep 
aration  for  anger  ;  yet,  oddly  enough,  he  could  not 
rid  himself  of  the  idea  that,  beneath  it  all,  she  was 
more  than  ordinarily  good-tempered. 

They  were  no  sooner  in  the  drawing-room,  where 
a  little  fire  was  burning  on  the  hearth,  and  where 
the  air  was  heavy  with  fragrance  from  the  pots  of 
hyacinths  in  the  south  window,  than  Mrs.  Paul  be 
gan  with  great  bitterness  to  reproach  her  son  for 
having  been  late  to  tea ;  John  meanwhile  silently 
calculating  how  soon  he  could  escape  into  the  fresh 
night,  and  take  a  turn  in  the  garden  with  his  cigar. 
The  thought  struck  him  that,  according  to  Kathe- 
rine's  doctrine,  he  ought,  in  order  to  teach  his  mother 
a  lesson  in  unselfishness,  to  refuse  to  play  at  draughts 
in  a  room  which  was  made  insufferable  by  a  fire  and 
by  the  heavy  sweetness  of  flowers.  But  he  shook 
his  head,  and  laughed  under  his  breath.  Heat,  and 
perfume,  and  interminable  checkers  were  better 
than  the  possibilities  in  that  voice.  Yes,  very  likely 
he  was  a  coward  in  such  matters,  but  at  least  he  had 


SIDNEY.  235 

no  shrinking  from  greater  things.  Now  that  the 
final  moment  had  come,  he  did  not  feel  the  slightest 
disinclination  to  tell  his  mother  of  his  plans,  and  he 
was  really  glad  when  Davids,  having  brought  the 
footstool  and  arranged  the  fan-shaped  screen,  left 
him  alone  with  his  opportunity. 

"  Now !  "  said  Mrs.  Paul.  "  Davids  dawdles  so 
over  his  work,  I  really  thought  he  meant  to  spend 
the  evening  with  us.  No,  don't  bring  the  checker- 
table, —  your  intolerable  lack  of  punctuality  has 
lost  me  my  game.  —  for  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you,  and  you  are  too  selfish  to  stay  with  me  later 
than  nine.  One  would  think  I  had  plenty  to  enter 
tain  nie,  instead  of  sitting  here  alone  for  hours. 
Though  to-day,  thanks  to  you,  I  have  had  a  diver 
sion,  —  a  most  unpleasant,  a  most  shameful  inter 
ruption.  I  am  astounded,  sir,  at  your  conduct ! " 
She  struck  her  clenched  hand  on  the  arm  of  her 
chair,  and  John,  sitting  opposite,  noted,  lazily,  how 
her  rings  sparkled.  "  Of  course  you  know  what  I 
mean?" 

Her  son  had  been  so  heedless  of  her  words  that 
his  face  was  quite  blank. 

"I  don't  pretend,"  she  said,  "that  you  are  a  pat 
tern  of  virtue,  though  you  are  a  fool ;  but  at  least 
you  might  keep  such  affairs  from  your  mother's 
ears,  and  not  subject  me  to  what  I  have  endured 
this  afternoon." 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  now?  "  thought 
John  Paul.  He  yawned  furtively  in  his  beard,  and 
wished  that  he  might  begin  his  own  story.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  a  curious  feeling  that  his  mother 


236  SIDNEY. 

was  in  a  good  humor  under  all  this  fierceness,  he 
would  not  have  noticed  her  railing;  he  observed 
that  she  addressed  him  as  "  John,"  with  a  hint  of 
respect  in  her  voice  which  he  could  not  understand ; 
he  watched  her,  faintly  interested. 

Mrs.  Paul  polished  her  glasses  delicately  with  her 
handkerchief,  and  then  put  them  on  and  looked  at 
him. 

"  It  is  scandalous  that  I  should  know  of  it,"  (John 
sat  up  straight,  in  sudden  attention),  "  and  that  you 
should  have  permitted  that  abominable  old  creature 
to  come  here  about  her  daughter."  (Her  son  leaped 
to  his  feet,  with  an  unspoken  word  upon  his  lips.) 
u  I  do  not  purpose  to  interfere  in  such  a  matter  ;  of 
course  I  deplore  it,  and  all  that,  but  it  is  n't  my  affair, 
and  I  only  refer  "  — 

John  cried  out,  with  a  sharp  gesture,  "  Not  your 
affair  ?  Oh,  mother !  " 

She  frowned  at  his  interruption.  "  Let  me  pro 
ceed,  if  you  please.  You  should  know  enough  to 
silence  her  mother's  tongue,  and  prevent  her  from 
coming  here  —  to  me  —  to  ask  for  my  interference, 
or  aid,  I  don't  know  which.  It  is  outrageous." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  "  said  John  Paul, 
very  quietly. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well ;  the  girl's  mother  has 
been  here.  It  appears  that  you  have  made  her  jeal 
ous.  And  I  have  to  listen  to  that,  too,  —  /,  your 
mother ! " 

"My  mother,"  John  repeated.  His  face  was 
white.  John  Paul  had  borne  many  things  from  this 
handsome  woman ;  he  had  been  railed  at,  and 


SIDNEY.  237 

snubbed,  and  neglected  ever  since  he  was  a  child. 
He  had  never  shown  her  the  affection  which  she 
apparently  despised ;  perhaps  he  had  never  stopped 
to  see  whether  he  felt  any  affection ;  but  beneath 
his  indifference  had  been  always  the  instinct  of  the 
child  for  the  parent.  Once  he  had  rested  on  her 
heart,  she  had  carried  him  in  her  arms,  he  had  slept 
in  her  bosom  ;  she  was  his  mother.  And  now  it  was 
his  mother  who  said  that  the  evil  life  which  she  be 
lieved  he  led  was  no  affair  of  hers.  John  caught 
his  breath  in  something  like  a  sob.  Then  he  said, 
"  Who  is  this  person  whom  you  have  seen  ?  " 

Mrs.  Paul  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  do  not 
care  to  discuss  it.  I  have  merely  mentioned  it  to 
insist  that  you  shall  keep  such  matters  from  me,  and 
—  and  to  say  how  your  conduct  distresses  me  —  of 
course." 

"  I  must  insist  upon  the  name  of  your  informant." 

His  mother  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  Be 
good  enough  to  drop  this  affectation." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  defending  myself  to  you," 
John  answered.  "  I  only  desire  to  know  who  has 
said  these  things  ;  then  I  will  drop  the  subject." 

"Really?"  said  Mrs..  Paul.  "But  I  certainly 
shall  not  tell  you,  my  friend,  for  you  know  perfectly 
well.  One  thing,  however,  I  will  say :  it  is  shame 
ful  that  you  should  permit  such  a  creature  to  gossip 
about  you.  You  should  know  better  than  that,  at 
least.  This  person  who  has  made  her  jealous,  ap 
parently,  this  Miss  Townsend  "  — 

"Silence!"  cried  John  Paul.  "What  do  you 
mean  ?  Who  has  dared  to  speak  her  name  ?  " 


238  SIDNEY. 

His  calm  white  face  suddenly  blazed  with  passion, 
and  he  stammered  as  he  spoke.  Mrs.  Paul  felt  as 
though  caught  in  an  unexpected  hurricane ;  she  was 
breathless  for  a  moment. 

"  You  —  you  —  use  that  tone  to  me  ?  /  dare  !  I 
accuse  you.  I  say  plainly  that  I  am  astounded  at 
your  stupidity  —  and  your  low  ways." 

"  Have  you  finished  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  have  not  !  This  Townsend  girl 
that"  — 

"You  will  leave  Miss  Townsend's  name  out  of 
this  discussion,"  interrupted  her  son.  He  was  stand 
ing  before  her,  his  arms  folded,  so  that  the  grip  of 
restraint  in  his  hands  was  not  seen. 

"  What?  There  is  something  in  that,  is  there  ? 
You  do  go  to  see  this  person,  do  you,  this  —  school 
teacher  ?  And  perhaps  she  does  think  you  are  go 
ing  to  marry  her  ?  The  old  woman  knew  what  she 
was  talking  about,  it  appears." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  and  I 
don't  know  what  you  mean  by  your  '  old  woman, ' : 
John  answered  slowly.  "  I  have  no  idea  to  what 
absurd  and  lying  scandal  you  have  listened,  nor  do  I 
care  to  inquire  further  into  it,  unless  some  damnable 
gossip  has  dared  to  use  Miss  Townsend's  name  with 
out  reverence  ;  in  which  case,  she  will  answer  to  me. 
I  ask  you  once  more,  what  is  the  name  of  this  per- 

O  99 

son  : 

Her  lip  curled  into  a  short  laugh.  "  You  may 
ask  me  as  often  as  you  wish.  I  shall  not  tell  you ; 
you  know  perfectly  well.  Unless,  indeed,  there  are  " 
—  ("  Oh,  hush,  hush !  "  John  said.  "  Oh,  mother !  ") 


SIDNEY.  239 

*'  As  for  this  Miss  Townsend,  I  want  it  distinctly 
understood  that  I  shall  not  permit  such  a  thing  for 
a  moment." 

"  Permit  what  ?  " 

Anger  and  shame  had  transformed  John's  face ; 
it  seemed  to  have  grown  years  older. 

"  You  —  to  marry  her.  Your  friend  informed  me 
that  the  girl  had  some  such  expectation ;  but  you 
had  better  make  her  understand  that  I  will  not  al 
low  it,  and  that  if  you  choose  to  disobey  me  you 
shall  not  have  one  cent  of  my  money.  Not  one 
cent !  Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  I  hear  you  perfectly ;  and  now,  if  you  please, 
you  will  hear  me.  I  have  too  much  respect  for  my 
father's  wife  to  deny  to  my  mother  such  an  accusation 
as  has  been  made,  though  I  do  ask  you  for  the  name 
of  the  person  whom  you  permit  to  slander  your  son. 
But  for  this  other  matter,  I  have  the  honor  of  in 
forming  you  that  Miss  Townsend  is  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Paul. 

"  I  had  also  intended,  this  evening,  to  tell  you 
that  I  shall  end  my  connection  with  the  warehouse 
on  the  first  of  next  month." 

"  Go  on." 

u  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

"  Then  listen  to  me !  "  cried  his  mother.  "  If  you 
marry  a  beggar,  you  can  live  like  a  beggar.  Do 
you  understand  what  that  means  ?  Answer  me." 

"  Yes,  it  is  what  I  have  done  all  my  life.  It  is  what 
comes  to  an  end  when  I  cease  to  eat  your  bread." 

Mrs.  Paul  choked  with  rage  "  I  will  not  have 
you  marry  her  !  " 


240  SIDNEY, 

John  did  not  speak  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said, 
under  his  breath,  "  How  terrible,  how  terrible  !  " 

44  Ah,  you  are  coming  to  your  senses,  are  you?  You 
are  wise  to  reflect  upon  the  husks  that  the  swine  do 
eat,  rather  than  to  try  them.  I  warn  you  that  the 
role  of  the  prodigal  son  shall  never  be  played  in  my 
house.  If  you  disobey  me  once,  it  ends  everything. 
Forgiveness  is  weakness.  I  never  forgive." 

"  We  shall  be  married  very  soon,"  John  said,  look 
ing  away  from  her,  almost  as  if  he  had  not  heard 
her.  "  You  may  do  what  you  please  with  your 
money  ;  it  is  nothing  to  us.  But  oh,  I  wish  you 
could  see  Katherine,  —  I  wish  you  could  see  her !  It 
must  make  a  difference."  His  voice  softened  as  he 
spoke.  "  I  have  been  a  coward ;  I  see  it  now.  I 
have  helped  to  make  this  possible  in  you.  Forgive 
me.  And  yet — and  yet  —  I  think  I  shall  never 
forgive  you." 

Mrs.  Paul,  staring  at  him,  dumb  with  anger,  and 
struggling  to  see  some  meaning  in  his  words,  sud 
denly  shrank  back  into  her  chair,  and  put  her  hands 
before  her  eyes.  "  You  look  —  like  your  father!" 
she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

John,  turning  on  his  heel,  glanced  back  at  her. 
"  My  poor  father !  " 

He  did  not  stop  to  call  Scarlett  or  Davids,  but 
went  at  once  out  into  the  heavy  darkness  of  the 
moonless  night.  An  intent  purpose  blotted  out  even 
the  anger  in  his  face,  but  his  hands  were  clenched, 
and  he  breathed  quickly  between  his  teeth,  in  un 
conscious  rage. 

When  he  reached  Katherine's  door,  he  stood  with 


SIDNEY.  241 

an  impatient  hand  upon  the  knob,  waiting  the  an 
swer  to  his  ring,  and  a  moment  later  pushed  past 
the  mournful  Maria  without  a  word;  for  he  saw 
Katherine  in  the  parlor,  standing  by  the  bookcase, 
absorbed  in  the  volume  in  her  hand.  He  was  so  in 
tent  upon  his  own  thoughts  that  he  would  scarcely 
have  noticed  it  had  the  room  been  full  of  people. 
As  it  was,  there  was  only  Ted,  curled  up  in  the  big 
armchair,  reading  Mother  Goose,  like  a  wise  baby. 

John  went  at  once  to  Katherine's  side,  taking  the 
book  and  her  hands  in  his.  "  Katherine,"  he  said, 
"  we  must  be  married  at  once,  dear." 

"  Very  well,"  she  answered.  She  drew  a  quick 
breath  and  bit  her  lip,  and  then  the  tears  came  into 
her  eyes. 

"John,"  observed  Ted,  putting  down  Mother 
Goose,  "  why  do  you  and  Kitty  look  at  each  other 
so  funny  ?  Why  don't  you  do  something  ?  " 

Katherine  laughed  tremulously,  but  John's  face 
was  stern  with  the  greatness  of  the  moment.  He 
lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips.  "  I  will  try  to  be  a  good 
man,  Katherine.  God  bless  you  !  " 

Ted  did  not  see  why  he  should  have  been  taken 
in  his  sister's  arms,  nor  why  she  should  have  kept 
her  face  hidden  so  long  in  his  little  thin  neck  ;  nor 
did  it  seem  reasonable  that  he  should  have  been  sent 
to  bed  just  "  as  John  is  here,  and  we  could  'a'  gone 
and  played  with  the  pups  !  "  It  was  hard,  to  be 
sure,  so  Mr.  Paul  promised  to  come  earlier  the  next 
time. 

After  that,  there  was  a  very  long  talk,  —  very 
long  and  very  happy.  It  seemed  to  John,  watching 


242  SIDNEY. 

Katherine  with  worshiping  eyes,  as  though  each  mo 
ment  showed  him  more  clearly  how  great,  and  sane, 
and  beautiful  life  was.  He  had  not  meant  to  do  it, 
but  he  told  her,  briefly,  that  he  had  had  a  scene  with 
his  mother.  "  I  shall  never  forgive  her,  Katherine, 
and  —  she  is  my  mother  !  "  he  ended. 

"  Yes,  dear,  yes,"  she  answered,  —  he  had  heard 
that  tenderness  in  her  voice  before,  but  it  was  al 
ways  for  Ted  or  her  sisters,  —  "  you  will.  I  think 
you  do  already,  John,  in  your  pity  and  your  own 
regret." 

But  John  Paul  shook  his  head. 

Katherine's  eyes  had  blazed  with  sudden  under 
standing  at  the  mention  of  "  some  old  woman  and 
her  daughter,"  but  she  offered  no  explanation.  How 
much  her  silence  was  kindness  towards  poor  little 
silly  Eliza,  and  how  much  that  absurd  anger  which 
she  had  felt  when  she  learned  the  milliner's  harm 
less  secret,  she  did  not  try  to  understand. 

"  When  can  we  be  married  ?  "  John  insisted,  after 
many  plans  were  made  and  many  things  explained. 
u  In  a  week,  Kate,  surely  ?  " 

She  laughed,  with  a  rippling  gladness  on  her  face 
that  was  not  a  smile,  but  light  in  her  eyes  and 
tenderness  about  her  lips.  "  Why,  you  have  never 
asked  me  to  marry  you,  John  !  We  've  never  been 
engaged.  I  've  just  thought  of  it." 

"  Have  n't  we  ?  "  John  said,  frowning,  joyously. 
"  It  seems  as  if  we  had  been,  always.  But  that 
does  n't  make  any  difference,  you  know  ;  only  it 's 
queer  it  did  not  strike  me  when  I  told  my  mother 
that  we  were  to  be  married.  I  think  we  take  the 
best  things  for  granted  !  Now,  Katherine,  when  ?  " 


XVIII. 

THE  next  morning,  Sidney,  pacing  between  her 
garden  borders,  heard  her  name  called,  and  saw  Mr. 
John  Paul  coming  down  the  path.  These  spring 
mornings  filled  Sidney  Lee  with  that  strange  joy 
which  is  quite  apart  from  personal  experience,  and 
has  nothing  to  do  with  reason ;  indeed,  it  blurs  the 
sense  of  individuality,  for  it  is  but  another  expres 
sion  of  that  life  which  leaps  with  the  sap  in  a  lily 
stalk,  and  guides  the  frolics  of  the  young  sheep  in 
an  upland  pasture,  or  brings  a  prayer  upon  a  man's 
lip  and  tears  to  his  eyes. 

Sidney  forgot  the  sad  world  outside  her  garden 
walls  as  easily  as  she  forgot  that  Miss  Sally  was 
busy  in  the  kitchen,  and  that  another  pair  of  hands 
would  make  her  aunt's  work  lighter.  She  was  sing 
ing  softly  to  herself  ;  singing  was  like  breathing,  in 
this  sunshine,  and  soft  wind,  and  scent  of  growing 
things.  She  stopped  when  she  saw  John,  and 
smiled,  shielding  her  eyes  from  the  fresh  glitter  of 
the  sunshine  with  one  hand,  and  giving  him  the 
other. 

"  Sidney,  my  dear,"  John  said,  keeping  her  hand  in 
his  big  grasp,  "  look  here  ;  will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?  " 

"  I  '11  be  glad  to."  His  face  was  so  serious  that  she 
added,  "  Is  Mrs.  Paul  ill  ?  "  At  which  he  scowled  so 
blackly  that  Sidney  felt  she  had  said  something 


244  SIDNEY. 

wrong,  and  was  puzzled,  but  waited  for  him  to  ex 
plain  ;  like  her  father,  she  did  not  ask  many  ques 
tions. 

"  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor,"  John  began  again. 
"  I  want  you  to  go  and  see  Katherine  Townsend, 
and  ask  Miss  Sally  to  go,  too.  She  knows  her ;  Miss 
Townsend  is  Robert  Steele's  cousin,  you  know.  I 
believe  you  were  n't  at  home  either  time  she  came 
to  call  on  Miss  Sally  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  n't  seen  her,"  Sidney  answered,  won 
dering  at  the  color  which  had  come  into  Mr.  Paul's 
face.  "  I  '11  go  with  pleasure  ;  "  and  she  waited  to 
be  told  why. 

But  John  suddenly  became  aware  of  the  observ 
ing  windows  of  his  mother's  house,  and  hurried  his 
companion  into  the  evergreen  alley  that  ran  across 
the  garden  from  the  green  door  in  the  wall  on  one 
side,  to  the  fence  that  shut  off  the  lane,  on  the  other. 
The  alley  widened  in  the  middle  of  the  garden  into 
a  little  circle,  where  a  sun-dial  stood  ;  but  the  path 
was  always  in  the  shade,  and  the  dial  did  not  mark 
the  quiet  hours  on  its  stained  copper  face.  The 
branches  were  so  thick  that  the  alley  was  quite  dark, 
and  the  black  earth  was  damp,  and  faintly  green 
with  mould,  and  powdery  with  white  streaks  about 
the  roots  of  the  trees.  (There  was  no  danger  that 
Mrs.  Paul  could  see  them  here ;  but  before  they 
turned  into  the  pleached  walk  she  had  a  glimpse  of 
her  son  calmly  walking  up  and  down  by  Sidney's 
side.  That  sight  was  like  wind  upon  a  fire  ;  after 
an  instant's  breathless  silence,  she  called  out  to  Scar 
lett  with  furious  fault-finding,  and  even  made  as 
though  she  would  strike  the  woman  with  her  stick.) 


SIDNEY.  245 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  Sidney,"  John  was  ex 
plaining  in  the  evergreen  alley.  "  Miss  Townsend, 
she  's  —  she  's  going  to  marry  me.  And  my  mother 

—  well,  she  is  n't  willing,  you  see.     And  though,  of 
course,  it  does  n't  make  any  difference,  it  is  sort  of 
unpleasant  for  Kate.    So  I  want  some  of  my  friends 
to  be  nice  to  her.     I  knew  Miss  Sally  would  go  to 
see  her,  she  's  so  good ;  but  I  thought,  perhaps,  if 
you  would  go  —  you  are  nearer  her  own  age  —  you 
know  ?  " 

Sidney,  with  parted  lips,  stood  quite  still,  and 
looked  at  him. 

John  blushed.  "  I  know  I  seem  old  to  you,  Sid 
ney,  and  I'm  sure  I  wish  she'd  taken  me  ten  years 
ago,  twenty  years  ago  ;  only  I  did  n't  know  her  until 
last  fall.  Oh,  Sidney,  she  is  —  really,  I  don't  speak 
in  any  personal  way — I  mean  I  am  unprejudiced, 
entirely  unprejudiced  —  but,  by  Jove,  Sidney,  she  's 

—  she  's  —  a  very  remarkable  woman  !  " 

Sidney  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I  will  go,  of  course ; 
and  aunt  Sally  will,  too ;  but  I  —  I  don't  under 
stand  !  " 

"  You'  will  love  her,"  John  declared,  following  his 
own  thoughts,  and  blind  to  Sidney's  confused  look. 
"  We  are  not  going  to  be  married  until  August. 
Katherine  won't  have  it  a  day  sooner,  I  'm  afraid. 
Miss  Sally  is  to  be  married  then,  too,  is  n't  she  ?  " 

Sidney  nodded,  frowning  a  little. 

"  We  shall  not  live  in  Mercer,"  John  proceeded. 
"  I  am  going  into  the  office  of  '  The  Independent 
Press.'  The  major  takes  it,  does  n't  he?" 

"  But  Mrs.  Paul,"  Sidney  said,  scarcely  hearing 


246  SIDNEY. 

his  reference  to  the  newspaper,  —  "  what  will  she 
do?" 

John's  face  darkened  savagely.  "  Sidney,  you 
don't  understand  these  things,  more  's  the  pity.  But 
listen  to  me.  If  a  man  and  woman  care  for  each 
other,  nothing  in  heaven,  or  earth,  or  the  waters 
under  the  earth  has  a  right  to  part  them.  Do  you 
understand?  They  belong  to  one  another.  See? 
Why,  it  would  be  wicked  to  let  anything  interfere. 
There  is,"  declared  John  Paul,  "  no  such  thing  as 
duty  to  any  one  else  (even  if  a  —  a  mother  deserved 
it)  that  should  keep  two  people  apart  who  —  care; 
at  least  who  care  as  we  do.  The  only  thing  in  the 
world,  Sidney,  to  be  considered,  is  love,  my  dear, 
love !  "  John  lowered  his  voice,  and  looked  up  at 
the  drift  of  white  clouds  above  the  swaying  points 
of  the  cypresses.  Sidney  caught  her  breath.  It 
was  wonderful,  this  illumination  in  his  good-natured 
face.  "  And  so,"  he  continued  cheerfully,  "  there  's 
nothing  to  be  said  about  anybody's  wishes  but  just 
our  own."  Then  he  fell  to  talking  in  the  frankest 
way  of  his  plans,  and  economies,  and  many  practical 
things. 

There  was  gladness  in  his  face,  to  be  sure ;  but 
rent?  and  the  size  of  a  house?  and  whether  it  were 
better  to  be  on  the  line  of  the  steam  or  horse  cars  ? 
Sidney  felt  as  though  dropped  suddenly  from  a 
height. 

"  I  will  go,"  she  said  slowly ;  "  only,  if  you  please, 
I  would  like  to  tell  Mrs.  Paul." 

John  looked  uneasy.  "  I  don't  think  it  is  neces 
sary." 


SIDNEY.  247 

But  Sidney  was  determined.  "  I  shall  surely  go," 
she  insisted,  smiling.  "  I  want  to."  And  with  that 
he  had  to  be  contented. 

She  watched  him  closely  as  he  spoke  again  of 
Katherine ;  he  was  certainly  very  happy.  She 
looked  up  at  the  soft  blue  of  the  April  sky,  and  at 
the  snowy  clouds  stretching  across  the  east  like  a 
flight  of  cherubs.  She  shivered  a  little  and  seemed 
about  to  speak,  but  could  not.  u  Does  he  forget 
death?"  she  thought.  After  he  left  her,  with  this 
new  joyousness  in  his  eyes,  which  made  his  step 
lighter  and  his  face  younger,  Sidney  still  walked  up 
and  down  the  shadowy  alley. 

Perhaps,  for  the  moment,  John  Paul's  indiffer 
ence  to  his  mother  and  her  wishes  was  the  most  for 
cible  comment  he  could  have  made  upon  the  power 
of  that  new  emotion  which  so  transformed  him. 
Sidney's  very  instincts  were  her  father's ;  disobedi 
ence  had  never  been  a  temptation,  because  it  was  an 
impossibility.  Of  course  she  knew  that,  outwardly, 
John's  relation  to  his  mother  was  quite  different, 
but  —  she  was  his  mother.  That  was  the  first  won 
der  at  what  love  could  do,  but  the  greater  wonder 
came. 

There  was  an  old  wooden  bench  near  the  sun-dial, 
curved  like  an  irregular  crescent ;  it  had  stood  here 
so  long  that  its  paint  had  flaked  and  worn  away, 
and  its  four  thick  posts  were  mossy  green  and 
stained  with  a  rust  of  lichen.  In  summer  the  slats 
of  the  back  were  hidden  by  a  tangle  of  vines,  but 
now  only  leafless  stems  and  brittle  tendrils  twisted 
in  and  out  between  them  ;  crocuses  grew  close  about 


248  SIDNEY. 

the  bench,  and,  opening  their  white  and  purple  cups, 
filled  the  damp,  warm  air  with  that  fresh  eartn-scent 
which  belongs  to  spring.  Sidney  sat  down  here,  rest 
ing  her  elbow  on  one  knee,  and  her  chin  in  her  hand. 

"  Death  :  death  :  "  she  said  to  herself,  —  "  he  can 
forget  it ;  he  never  thinks  of  anything  but  happi 
ness.  Perhaps  that  is  because  it  is  all  new ;  per 
haps  as  soon  as  he  gets  used  to  it  he  will  begin  to  be 
afraid  ?  "  She  watched,  with  absent  eyes,  a  brown 
butterfly  flicker  along  the  shadows  of  the  path  into 
the  open  light  of  the  circle ;  then,  with  a  start,  she 
remembered  that  she  must  tell  Miss  Sally.  Did 
Alan  know  ?  she  wondered.  Sidney's  mind  was  in 
a  tumult.  Never  in  her  calm,  self-centred  life  had 
she  been  so  stirred.  Miss  Sally's  little  love  affair  ? 
She  frowned  as  she  thought  of  it.  Yet  to  stop  to 
talk  about  rents  and  steam  cars !  What  did  it  all 
mean  ? 

She  told  her  aunt  in  the  briefest  way  that  Mr. 
Paul  was  to  marry  Miss  Townsend,  but  she  did  not 
wait  to  listen  to  the  little  spinster's  delighted  sur 
prise.  To  have  Miss  Sally,  with  a  ladle  in  her 
hand,  fall  into  a  chair,  and  gasp,  and  exclaim,  and 
laugh  with  pleasure  through  twinkling  tears,  seemed 
to  the  girl  profane ;  she  wished  she  could  get  away 
from  it  all.  A  strange  dislike  and  passionate  inter 
est  clamored  in  her  mind. 

When  she  went  to  see  Mrs.  Paul,  the  scolding  of 
the  older  woman  was  almost  a  relief.  It  was  some 
thing  tangible  and  easily  understood.  "  I  thought  I 
ought  to  come,"  she  announced  in  her  calm  way, 
"  to  say  that  this  afternoon  I  am  going  to  see  Miss 
Townsend.  Mr.  Paul  asked  me  to." 


SIDNEY.  249 

Mrs.  Paul  was  so  angry,  so  dismayed,  so  unwill 
ing  that  Sidney  should  see  her  discomfiture  at  her 
son's  defiance,  that  for  a  moment  she  did  not  know 
how  to  reply. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  she  said,  —  "  very 
sorry  and  disappointed  in  you.  This  Miss  Town- 
send  has  a  foolish  infatuation  for  John  which  I  do 
not  at  all  approve  of,  —  not  at  all.  I  am  very  sure 
that  she  is  not  a  proper  person  for  you  to  know.  I 
suppose,  though,  like  every  other  young  person  in 
these  impudent  days,  you  set  yourself  up  to  know 
more  than  your  elders,  so  I  need  not  expect  you  to 
be  guided  by  me  when  I  say  that  you  ought  not  to 
see  her ;  but  at  least  I  can  insist  that  you  do  not  call 
upon  this  very  offensive  young  woman  without  your 
father's  permission.  Your  aunt  knows  you  are 
going  ?  As  though  Sally  had  the  slightest  sense  in 
such  matters !  I  have  no  doubt  she  would  think  it 
proper  to  visit  her  washerwoman  !  " 

"  But,"  said  Sidney  gently,  "  Miss  Townsend  is 
Mr.  Steele's  cousin,  Mrs.  Paul." 

Mrs.  Paul  was  astounded,  but  not  for  a  moment 
dismayed  nor  softened.  "  What,  the  girl  whose 
mother  was  a  Drayton  ?  I  remember  ;  some  one 
told  me.  More  shame  to  her,  then,  for  her  conduct 
in  running  after  a  rich  man,  —  at  least  a  man  with 
a  rich  mother.  I  am  perfectly  disgusted  with  those 
Steeles  and  every  one  connected  with  them.  I 
wouldn't  have  had  you  look  at  young  Steele  for 
worlds,  though  it 's  plain  enough  why  he  took  Sally. 
You  very  properly  repulsed  him." 

Sidney  looked  at  her  with  faint  curiosity. 


250  SIDNEY. 

"  This  Townsend  girl  is  shockingly  forward,"  con 
tinued  Mrs.  Paul,  her  voice  shrill  and  her  hands 
unsteady.  uNo  well-brought-up  young  woman 
would  try  to  marry  a  man  against  his  mother's 
wishes.  I  should  think  you  would  know  better  than 
to  want  to  see  her.  It 's  this  talk  of  love  and  mar 
riage  that  pleases  you ;  you  are  like  all  the  rest  of 
them,  in  spite  of  Mortimer  Lee's  fine  theories.  But 
there  shall  be  no  wedding  gayeties,  —  I  can  tell  you 
that,  miss !  " 

Another  girl,  with  quick  consciousness,  would 
have  disclaimed  interest  in  such  subjects  ;  but  Sid 
ney  only  looked  with  puzzled  surprise  at  the  fierce 
old  woman,  whose  eyes  blurred  once  as  though  with 
terrified  tears.  Sidney  was  stinging  with  interest, 
and  painful  interest ;  it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  deny 
it. 

"  It  shall  not  be  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Paul,  forgetting 
that  she  was  betraying  her  own  fear.  "  Johnny 
won't  throw  his  bread  and  butter  away,  I  can  tell 
you  !  " 

But  Sidney  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own 
wonder  to  care  for  Mrs.  Paul's  dismay.  She  did 
not  stay  very  long ;  she  was  impatient  to  see  the  girl 
who  was  going  to  take  love  into  her  life.  Perhaps, 
without  being  aware  of  it,  this  experience  of  another 
woman  was  the  greatest  reality  which  Sidney  had 
ever  known ;  for  her  love  for  her  father  was  so 
much  a  part  of  herself  she  was  almost  unconscious 
of  it. 

It  was  evident,  from  the  confusion  of  her  thoughts, 
as  she  walked  out  to  Red  Lane  this  April  afternoon, 


SIDNEY.  251 

that,  whether  she  knew  it  or  not,  the  slumber  of  her 
mind,  which  had  followed  an  accepted  opinion,  had 
been  rudely  broken.  Life  was  very  bewildering  to 
Sidney  Lee.  First,  her  calm  and  almost  beautiful 
egotism  (there  is  a  certain  beauty  in  anything  which 
is  perfect)  had  been  touched  faintly  by  Miss  Sally's 
timid  happiness.  It  was  as  though  a  hesitating 
knock  had  fallen  upon  the  outer  gates  of  a  sleeping 
palace,  only  loud  enough  to  make  the  contented 
dreamer  within  stir  impatiently.  But  now  had  come 
a  clamor  upon  the  very  door  of  her  heart.  She  must 
hear  Life !  Its  importunate  gladness  banished 
dreams,  even  though  she  barred  the  door  and  re 
fused  to  look  upon  its  glowing  face. 

She  went  over  in  her  mind  John  Paul's  words  and 
looks.  "  It  is  n't  just  because  he  is  happy  in  caring 
for  her,"  she  thought,  "  but  because  he  has  imagined 
a  heaven  where  his  happiness  will  be  continued. 
And  there  is  no  heaven  !  Oh,  that  is  n't  what  I 
should  suppose  he  would  imagine,  for  it  does  n't 
seem  to  me  that  heaven  would  be  enough  to  make 
up  for  the  years  that  may  come  and  stand  between 
them.  Time  is  like  death,  in  a  way ;  but  if  they 
were  sure  that  their  God  knew  what  it  all  meant,  — 
love  and  death  in  the  same  world,  —  why  they  lived 
and  why  they  suffered,  I  should  think  they  could 
bear  to  be  without  their  heaven.  But  it  is  immor 
tality,  not  God,  apparently,  that  excuses  love.  Oh, 
/should  imagine  —  Some  One  who  knows  !  "  Then 
she  fell  to  thinking  of  a  certain  wise  man  who  left  a 
field  untilled  for  many  years,  that  he  might  observe 
how  it  was  altered  or  affected  by  the  earth-worms 


252  SIDNEY. 

below  the  surface.  "  If  the  worms  could  only  have 
known,"  she  thought,  intent  upon  this  reality  which 
had  pressed  upon  her  dreaming  eyes,  "  if  they  could 
have  guessed  why  their  field  suffered  those  conditions, 
and  why  they  were  living  their  poor,  dark  lives,  it 
would  have  been  worth  while.  Oh,  if  there  were 
only  any  great  reason  above  all  the  little  reasons  and 
ignorances,  I  could  understand  that  people  might  be 
patient  to  suffer !  " 

Katherine  Townsend  saw  Sidney  coming,  and, 
guessing  who  it  was  (for  John,  taking  every  oppor 
tunity  to  send  a  note  to  Red  Lane,  had  announced 
that  she  would  call),  opened  the  door  herself,  and 
took  the  girl's  hand  in  her  cordial  grasp. 

"  You  are  Sidney  Lee  ?  "  she  said,  leading  her  into 
the  parlor.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you."  She  looked 
at  her  with  keen,  friendly  eyes.  u  John  told  me  you 
were  coming." 

Sidney  was  far  more  embarrassed  than  Katherine ; 
but  it  was  not  shyness  nor  any  unworldliness,  in  the 
sense  of  what  was  unaccustomed ;  only  the  wonder 
of  the  dreamer  who  has  been  unaware  of  any  other 
landscape  than  the  blurred  world  of  sleep. 

Katherine's  charming  tact  was  for  once  at  a  loss. 
The  weather,  and  the  fresh,  sweet  skies,  and  the  bird 
singing  in  the  rain  under  her  window  the  day  before  ; 
Miss  Sally,  and  Robert  Steele's  good  fortune  in  win 
ning  her,  and  how  kind,  and  gentle,  and  unselfish 
Katherine  thought  the  little  spinster ;  Ted  and  the 
pups,  —  all  in  vain  !  Sidney  answered  quite  sweetly 
and  briefly,  with  a  little  dignity  in  her  manner  which 
held  Katherine  very  far  away.  Yet  there  was  an 


SIDNEY.  253 

eager,  wistful  look  in  her  eyes  that  seemed  a  shadow 
of  trouble  in  their  placid  depths. 

Katherine  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  when  her  guest 
rose  to  go,  but,  with  a  simplicity  which  was  born  of 
her  great  content,  she  held  Sidney's  hand  a  moment 
as  she  said  good-by. 

"I  wish,"  she  declared,  "that  everybody  could  be 
as  happy  as  I  am." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Sidney,  with  a  half-sobbing  breath. 

Katherine  looked  at  her,  surprised  and  not  under 
standing.  Long  ago  John  had  told  her  of  this  young 
girl's  destiny  as  Major  Lee  had  planned  it,  but  to 
the  very  practical  and  warm-hearted  woman  it  was 
too  absurd  to  remember. 

"  Are  you  happy  ? "  Sidney  asked,  almost  in  a 
whisper. 

There  was  something  in  the  way  in  which  Kather 
ine  said,  looking  frankly  at  her  questioner,  "  Yes, 
indeed  I  am!  "  that  gave  Sidney  Lee  a  pang. 
The  tone  was  too  glad.  "How  can  she  say  it?" 
would  have  been  her  thought,  had  she  known  enough 
to  put  it  into  words ;  it  was  exactly  the  same  feeling 
with  which  she  heard  when  Mr.  Paul  talked  of  rent 
and  steam  cars. 

The  question  brought  back  to  Katherine  the 
strange  thing  John  had  told  her,  and,  with  that 
common  sense  which  hid  amusement  under  the  kind 
liest  manner  in  the  world,  she  added,  smiling,  "  Don't 
you  think  I  ought  to  be  ?  " 

"  But ''  —  Sidney  said,  and  then  waited  a  moment, 
—  "  death  ?  " 

That  word  touched  the  glad  content  upon  Kath- 
erine's  lips,  and  left  her  silent 


254  SIDNEY. 

"  Forgive  me !  "  Sidney  cried.  "  I  had  no  right 
to  say  that,  but  oh,  I  do  not  understand !  " 

"Why," — the  other  began; — it  was  towards 
dusk,  and  the  room  was  full  of  shadows,  but  she 
could  see  the  strained  look  in  Sidney's  face,  —  "  Oh, 
Miss  Lee !  "  She  had  no  words. 

"Are  you  not  afraid  —  every  moment?  I  have 
no  right  to  ask  you,  but  it  all  seems  so  strange,  so 
terrible." 

"No,  I  am  not  afraid,"  Katherine  answered. 
"Death?  Yes,  of  course,  but  life  first;  and  life 
is  so  rich  and  so  beautiful ;  and  after  that  —  heaven." 

"  If,"  Sidney  protested  hurriedly  —  "  if  there  were 
not  any  heaven,  then  would  the  beauty  and  the  rich 
ness  be  worth  while  ?  " 

Katherine  was  flung  into  a  seriousness  which  after 
wards  greatly  surprised  her.  She  put  her  hands  up 
to  her  eyes  for  an  instant ;  then  she  shook  her  head. 
Katherine  Townsend  was  too  well  satisfied  with  the 
comfort  of  her  religion  ever  to  have  invited  any 
doubts  of  it  by  subjecting  it  to  the  scrutiny  of  her 
intelligence,  and  therefore  she  did  not  feel  the  dismay 
which  might  have  shaken  some  persons  with  the 
memory  of  a  forgotten  terror.  Although  not  aware 
of  her  mental  processes,  Katherine  had  curtailed  her 
perceptions  to  fit  her  creed,  knowing,  without 
having  taken  the  trouble  to  reason  about  it,  that  she 
could  not  stretch  her  creed  to  contain  her  perceptions. 
As  a  result,  she  was  quite  happy,  and  found  the  en 
deavor  to  live  up  to  her  religion  far  more  comfortable 
than  would  have  been  the  endeavor  to  understand  it. 
But  Sidney's  words  showed  her  a  shuddering  possi- 


SIDNEY.  255 

bility.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  oh,  no,  it  would  not  be 
worth  while,  —  not  without  another  life."  But  her 
composure  was  shaken  only  for  a  moment.  "  My 
dear  Miss  Lee,  I  know  what  you  think,  —  John  told 
me  ;  but  you  won't  feel  so  when  you  care  for  some 
one.  Indeed,  indeed,  you  are  all  wrong.  The  good 
Lord  meant  us  to  love  each  other,  and  death  does 
not  end  all,  —  it  only  begins  it." 

Sidney  smiled  sadly ;  it  seemed  to  her  very  pa 
thetic.  "  Of  course  you  could  not  love  unless  you 
thought  that." 

"  I  know  it !  "  Katherine  declared. 

"How?" 

The  two  women  looking  into  each  other's  faces 
had  forgotten  conventionality ;  the  tears  were  upon 
Katherine's  cheeks,  and  Sidney's  eyes  threatened  her 
for  an  answer.  It  was  a  cry  for  the  unknown  God. 

But  Katherine  could  only  tell  her  of  the  longing 
of  the  human  soul  for  compensation  for  the  pain  of 
life.  "  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  because  life  would  be 
too  terrible  if  it  were  not  true !  It  must  be  true  !  " 
She  sobbed  as  she  spoke  ;  she  was  very  tired,  —  ner 
vous,  she  told  herself  afterwards,  not  remembering 
the  fierce  demand  in  Sidney's  young  face,  —  or  this 
would  have  been  impossible. 

"  I  hope,"  Sidney  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  you 
will  not  be  unhappy." 

"  I  shall  be  —  heavenly  happy !  "  cried  Katherine, 
half  terrified.  Then  she  put  her  hand  on  the  girl's 
shoulder  and  kissed  her.  "  I  hope  you  may  be,  too. 
And —  and,  Miss  Lee,  we  have  Christ  and  his 
promises,  —  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life.  Oh, 
do  think  of  that  ?  " 


256  SIDNEY. 

As  for  Sidney,  she  went  home  with  a  certain 
equilibrium  of  mind  asserting  itself.  This  love  which 
could  be  indifferent  to  grief,  because  it  hugged  a 
fallacy  to  its  heart,  was  not  beautiful  nor  great.  It 
deliberately  refused  to  think  of  the  coming  of  sor 
row,  or  it  even  forgot  sorrow ;  and  forgetf ulness  may 
be  another  name  for  cowardice. 

"  If  she  had  said  '  yes,  she  knew  that  death  would 
come,  and  that  she  had  no  imagined  heaven,  but 
that  love  was  worth  while,  anyhow,'  it  might  seem 
great.  But  that  would  need  —  what  ? "  Sidney 
had  no  words  except  that  vague  Some  One  who 
knows.  Ah,  with  that !  But  she  shook  her  head, 
with  a  wild  instinct  of  freedom.  She  exulted,  even 
while  she  pitied  Katherine  and  felt  the  terror  of 
life. 

"  And  to  talk  of  promises,"  she  thought,  the  old 
contempt  coming  back,  —  "  promises  !  Oh,  how 
strange  it  is  that  these  Christians  are  not  satisfied 
with  their  idea  of  God!  Why  do  they  belittle  it 
by  their  creeds  and  promises  and  their  non-human 
man  ?  I  should  think  a  God  would  be  enough.  But 
they  hang  all  these  little  thoughts  about  the  one 
great  thought  until  they  almost  hide  it.  I  suppose 
one  could  cover  a  mountain  with  lace  !  "  She  smiled  ; 
perhaps  there  is  no  conceit  so  arrogant  as  the  con 
ceit  which  follows  a  conviction  of  emancipation. 
Still,  the  mystery  and  wonder  lingered  in  her  eyes, 
and  did  not  escape  Major  Lee.  He  watched  her 
closely  at  their  silent  tea-table,  that  evening,  and 
later,  he  asked  her  what  her  afternoon  had  been. 

They  were    sitting    by  an  open    window    in    the 


SIDNEY.  257 

library,  for  the  day  had  been  very  warm.  The 
spring  twilight,  full  of  the  scent  of  the  sun-warmed 
earth,  came  in  from  the  garden,  and  hid  their  faces 
from  each  other  as  Sidney  told  her  story. 

Major  Lee's  astonishment  made  him  put  down  his 
cigar.  "  John  Paul !  Is  it  possible  that  he  found 
words  enough  to  ask  a  lady  to  marry  him  ?  " 

His  face  lighted  as  she  told  him  of  Katherine, 
and  of  that  strange  talk,  and  of  her  own  conclu 
sions.  u  Yes,  it  is  always  so ;  the  young  woman  has 
the  prodigality  of  youth  in  promising  what  does 
not  belong  to  her.  She  can  talk  about  this  life, 
perhaps,  although  her  experience  is  not  large ;  but 
her  suggestions  of  another  life  are  pathetic  or  amus 
ing,  as  one  looks  at  it.  The  way  in  which  persons 
who  want  to  excuse  or  to  explain  a  position  wrench 
a  statement  from  their  imaginations,  and  then  label 
it  a  fact,  is  amazing.  But  John  Paul  ?  He  seemed 
to  me  a  young  man  of  a  fair  amount  of  intelligence. 
Ah,  my  darling,  4  we  are  the  men,  and  wisdom  will 
die  with  us  ' !  "  He  laughed  a  little  ;  the  major  felt 
more  cheerful  than  for  many  a  day.  Sidney  had 
seen  it  for  herself. 


XIX. 

JOHN  PAUL'S  engagement  produced  an  astonish 
ment  in  the  small  world  upon  the  hill,  second  only 
to  that  felt  when  Miss  Sally  and  Robert  declared 
their  passion  ;  and  in  this  case,  as  in  the  other,  the 
most  astounded  and  angry  person  was  Mrs.  Paul. 
John's  laconic  note  announcing  that  he  was  to  be 
married  in  August,  and  repeating  his  intention  of 
leaving  the  warehouse,  gave  her  a  pang  of  more 
personal  pain  than  she  had  felt  for  a  very  long  time  ; 
perhaps,  indeed,  she  had  never  felt  that  kind  of  pain 
before.  The  smothered  and  forgotten  instinct  of 
maternity  was  wounded,  although  not  deeply  enough 
to  arouse  anything  but  anger. 

The  major  was  annoyed  that  Sidney  should  have 
to  see  more  of  "  this  sort  of  thing,"  and  somewhat 
disappointed  in  John  Paul,  but  otherwise  indiffer 
ent.  Miss  Sally  was  frankly  delighted;  she  soon 
grew  very  fond  of  Katherine,  and  chattered  about 
her  incessantly  to  Robert ;  repeating  the  bright  and 
pretty  things  his  cousin  had  said,  and  laughing  so 
heartily  herself  that  she  scarcely  noticed  the  forced 
and  tired  smile  on  her  lover's  face.  Robert  had  no 
heart  for  Katherine's  gayety;  he  was  absorbed  in 
his  own  perplexities.  When  that  storm  of  anger 
and  determination  in  which  he  had  left  Mrs.  Paul's 
house  had  subsided,  he  was  distinctly  aware  of  the 


SIDNEY.  259 

ebb  of  the  convictions  gained  then,  and  the  slow 
flooding  in  of  the  terrible  demand  of  honor;  he 
must  tell  Miss  Sally  he  did  not  love  her,  and  be  for 
ever  a  dishonorable  man  in  the  eyes  of  his  friends ; 
or  fail  to  tell  her,  and  be  dishonorable  in  his  own 
eyes.  How  fierce  was  the  alternative :  to  give  her 
everything  he  was  and  hoped  to  be ;  to  make  every 
day,  by  tenderness  and  loyalty,  secret  reparation  for 
secret  robbery ;  in  a  word,  deceive  her  so  skillfully 
that  she  could  never  detect  him,  —  or,  humiliate  and 
wound  her ! 

With  this  was  always  the  thought  of  what  he 
owed  her,  —  for  surely  it  had  been  the  will-of-the- 
wisp  of  love  which  had  led  him  out  of  his  slough  of 
despond.  He  looked  back  and  saw  himself  holding 
her  hand,  —  that  poor,  silly  little  hand,  which  be 
lieved  (had  he  not  taught  it  so  ?)  that  it  was  a  ne 
cessity  to  him,  —  saw  himself  struggling  to  emerge 
from  the  terror  of  weakness ;  gaining  from  her  his 
life,  his  reason,  his  very  honor.  The  fact  that  now, 
standing  on  firm  ground,  in  clear  sunshine,  he  could 
see  how  foolish  was  the  amiable  little  soul  that  his 
imagination  had  clothed  with  every  power  and  virtue 
could  not  alter  the  past  conditions.  Yet  again  and 
again  returned  the  simpler  and  the  truer  thought. 
Was  he  to  delude  her,  to  offer  her  tinsel  which  she 
should  accept  as  gold  ?  Was  he  to  let  her  take, 
through  ignorance,  what  knowledge  might  teach  her 
to  reject  ?  What  answer  could  there  be  but  No  ? 

With  a  nature  which  demanded  sympathy  and 
support,  Robert  was  singularly  alone ;  no  one  knew 
of  his  struggle,  not  even  Alan.  Once  he  thought 


260  SIDNEY. 

of  going  to  Mr.  Brown  for  advice,  but  instantly 
realized  that  what  he  wanted  was  not  man  to  man 
counsel,  but  direction  which  might  not  be  questioned, 

—  the  relief  of  shifting  responsibility.     It   was  in 
this  connection  that,  with  blank  wonder  at  his  own 
possibilities,  he  found  himself  thinking  of  the  refuge 
of  the  confessional.     His  mother's  church  beckoned 
him,  offering  the  allurement  of  infallible  guidance, 

—  the  temptation  to  become  as  a  little  child.     He 
said  to  himself  bitterly  that  when  his  mother  entered 
the  Catholic  Church  she  had  left  him  behind  her. 
He  despised  his  own  intelligence,   which   had   de 
prived  him  of  such  peace. 

Perhaps,  if  Alan  had  been  less  joyfully  absorbed 
in  himself,  he  might  have  helped  Robert ;  as  it  was, 
the  doctor  began  to  be  a  little  impatient  with  his 
evident  depression.  "  Steele  is  perfectly  well,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  and  there  is  n't  any  excuse  for  de 
pression  ;  "  so  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  si 
lenced  his  conscience.  "  It  does  n't  do  to  notice  that 
sort  of  thing,"  he  excused  himself,  with  the  convic 
tion  of  the  practical  man,  as  well  as  the  instinct  of 
the  physician.  It  is  a  curious  and  not  a  pleasing 
experience  to  discover  how  much  real  selfishness, 
and  willingness  to  escape  personal  annoyance,  can  be 
concealed  beneath  that  "  conviction  of  the  practical 
man  "  that  morbidness  and  supersensitiveness  must 
not  be  noticed,  and  to  learn  how  often,  in  dealing 
with  weak  and  unhappy  souls,  a  little  less  sense 
would  have  been  the  greater  wisdom.  Robert  was 
so  alive  to  the  doctor's  intentional  neglect  that  he 
had  no  impulse  to  ask  his  friend's  counsel ;  and  yet, 


SIDNEY.  261 

one  morning,  after  wandering  aimlessly  about  the 
streets,  he  found  himself  standing  miserably  at  their 
own  door. 

"  What  would  Crossan  do?"  he  asked  himself. 

It  was  Alan's  office  hour  ;  a  time  so  free  from  in 
terruption  that  the  two  friends  had  amused  them 
selves  by  regarding  it  as  the  part  of  the  day  to  be 
devoted  to  pleasant  things  ;  they  did  some  translat 
ing  together ;  or  Alan  practiced  —  quite  faithfully 
for  him  —  while  Robert  read.  So  the  unhappy  man 
felt  sure  of  finding  the  doctor  alone.  He  opened  the 
door  of  their  library,  not  even  looking  into  the  de 
partment  dignified  by  the  name  of  office.  Alan 
knew  the  step,  and  did  not  turn  as  he  called  out, 
"  Hello,  Bob  !  "  He  was  standing  by  the  window 
with  an  intent  look  upon  his  face,  stringing  his  violin. 
The  room  had  all  the  comfortable  confusion  of  a 
bachelor's  lodgings,  and  much  luxury  as  well.  There 
was  the  smell  of  chemicals,  to  be  sure,  for  Alan 
made  some  experiments  here,  so  there  was  a  stand 
with  retorts  upon  it,  and  traces  of  blackened  ashes, 
and  bottles  of  salts,  and  crystals ;  but  the  odor  of 
cigar  smoke  was  stronger,  and  a  great  bowl  of  roses 
stood  upon  the  table,  among  the  books. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  Robert  said,  throwing 
himself  wearily  into  a  big  chair. 

"  Go  ahead,"  responded  the  doctor,  frowning  over 
the  strings  of  his  violin. 

Robert  lifted  an  illuminated  copy  of  Italian  son 
nets  from  the  table  beside  him,  and  began,  absently, 
to  turn  the  yellow  leaves. 


262  SIDNEY. 

"  Per  esser  manco  almen,  signiora,  indegnio 
Dell'  immensa  vostr'  alta  cortesia, 
Prima,  all'  incontro  a  quella,  usar  la  mia 
Con  tutto  il  cor  volse  '1  mie  basso  ingegirio. 
Ma  visto  poi  c'  ascendere  a  quel  segnio 
Propio  valor  non  6  c'  apra  la  via  "  — 

He  put  the  book  down,  as  though  the  words  had 
stung  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  Alan  interrogated,  suddenly  noticing  the 
silence,  and  glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  his  friend. 

"  John  Paul  is  fairly  started,  it  appears,"  Robert 
said.  "  I  saw  his  name  on  the  editorial  page  this 
morning." , 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ?  "  inquired  the  doc 
tor.  "  Ah,  confound  it !  there  goes  another  string  !  " 

"  I  wonder  if  his  mother  has  forgiven  him  yet  ?  " 
Eobert  went  on,  vaguely. 

"  I  believe  not.  Sidney  told  me  he  did  not  see  her 
before  he  started." 

The  spring  wind  from  the  open  window  blew  one 
trembling  chord  back  into  the  room.  Alan  smiled 
joyously ;  Sidney's  name  seemed  blended  with  the 
music.  He  drew  his  bow  lightly  across  the  strings, 
and  a  burst  of  sound,  like  sudden  sunshine,  flooded 
the  room.  Then  they  talked  of  many  things,  in  the 
old  pleasant,  desultory  way;  Paul's  engagement 
most  of  all,  with  the  amused  question  whether  it  was 
the  major's  theories  which  had  kept  him  so  long  un 
married. 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Alan,  with  half  a  sigh,  turning 
round  to  look  at  Robert,  "  the  major  is  right,  you 
know,  but  not  human.  Listen  ;  I  've  set  these  verses 
of  Henley's  to  a  little  air  of  my  own.  J  want  you 


SIDNEY.  263 

to  hear  it."  He  stopped,  and  tuned  his  instrument, 
and  then,  lifting  his  head,  began  to  sing  in  a  musical 
tenor,  which  was  without  that  thread  of  pain  that  is 
so  often  woven  into  the  tenor  voice  :  — 


"  '  Fill  a  glass  with  golden 

And  while  yet  your  lips  are  wet 
Set  their  perfume  unto  mine, 

And  forget 

Every  kiss  we  take  or  give 
Leaves  us  less  of  life  to  live. 

'  Yet  again  !  your  whim  and  mine 

In  a  happy  while  have  met. 
All  your  sweets  to  me  resign. 

Nor  regret 

That  we  press,  with  every  breath, 
Sighed  or  singing,  nearer  death  !  ' 

There  !  is  n't  that  morbid  enough  for  anybody  ? 
What  do  you  think  of  that  minor,  —  '  and  forget  — 
forget  '  ?  "  Eobert  said  something  vaguely,  but  Alan 
was  too  pleased  with  himself  to  notice  his  friend's 
lack  of  enthusiasm.  "Of  course,"  he  proceeded, 
"  if  there  were  no  love,  there  would  be  no  sorrow  ; 
we  all  admit  that.  But  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it  ?  Cripple  and  deform  life,  to  be  spared 
pain  ?  And  we  can't  be  spared,  anyhow  ;  we  're 
bound  to  love,  no  matter  how  we  fear  it.  There  are 
really  only  two  conditions  in  life  :  one  is  ignorance 
and  the  other  is  misery.  Major  Lee  undertakes  to 
create  a  third,  —  indifference.  But  it  can't  be  done  ! 
The  thing  to  do  is  to  be  ignorant  as  long  as  you  can, 
—  that's  my  belief.  Yes,  it  is  the  only  rational 
plan  :  live  in  the  present  ;  forget  the  future.  It  is 
intolerable  to  think  of  death  and  love  together. 
The  major  's  right." 


264  SIDNEY. 

"You  are  not  so  great  a  coward,  Crossan,"  said 
the  other,  smiling  in  spite  of  his  misery. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  Alan  exclaimed  gayly,  "  I  am 
exactly  so  great  a  coward.  I  don't  believe  I  shall 
have  a  very  long  life,  with  this  heart  of  mine,  and 
shall  I  refuse  tcr  make  the  most  of  it  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?"  Robert  protested  un 
easily.  "  You  are  as  strong  as  anybody ;  you  know 
you  are." 

Alan  shook  his  head.  "  Bob,  the  value  of  a  med 
ical  education  is,  that  you  can  number  your  days, 
and  apply  your  heart  to  whatever  seems  most  worth 
while.  In  a  word,  have  a  mighty  good  time,  and 
don't  bother  with  a  lot  of  unnecessary  things. 

'  Quid  brevi  fortes  jaculamur  aevo 
Multa  ?  ' 

(I  think  that  line  is  the  extent  of  my  Horace  !  ") 

"  You  —  you  are  not  in  earnest  ?  "  Robert  insisted, 
not  noticing  the  careless  words,  and  his  voice  break 
ing  with  fear. 

"  I  am  entirely  in  earnest,  but  please  don't  look  so 
dismayed.  I  am  making  the  most  of  to-day,  and  I 
mean  to  make  the  most  of  to-morrow,  trust  me! 
Why,  bless  you,  I  may  live  to  be  a  hundred  ;  only,  I 
may  not.  But  I  assure  you  I  intend  to  be  alive  as 
long  as  possible." 

With  his  easy  sympathy,  Alan  knew  quite  well 
the  stunned  and  horrified  dismay  in  Robert's  mind, 
and  so,  with  a  touch  that  was  a  caress,  he  put  his 
face  against  the  violin,  and  hastened  to  talk  of  other 
things.  He  was  sitting  011  the  arm  of  a  chair,  swing 
ing  his  foot  with  lazy  comfort,  intent  upon  enjoyment 


SIDNEY.  265 

of  the  spring  day,  and  the  sunshine,  and  the  soft 
wind  which  blew  his  hair  about  his  forehead. 

"  There,  hang  it !  don't  look  at  me  as  though  this 
were  my  last  day.  I  've  a  lot  of  life  in  me  yet,  I 
can  tell  you,  and  I  mean  —  I  mean  to  enjoy  it." 

"  But,"  Robert  stammered,  forgetting  his  own 
pain,  "  I  can't  believe  it,  Alan ;  it  can't  be.  You 
must  see  a  specialist,  you  must "  — 

"  Stuff !  Do  you  doubt  my  knowledge  ?  And 
don't  I  tell  you  I  may  live  to  be  a  hundred  ?  Drop 
it,  Bob!  Don't  look  so  dejected;  if  there  is  any 
thing  I  hate,  it  is  dejection." 

All  the  while,  running  through  his  words,  was 
the  low  and  tremulous  breathing  of  the  violin ;  his 
face,  and  his  careless  words,  and  the  ripple  of  a 
song  somehow  blurred  this  terrible  thing  he  had 
been  saying.  Robert  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 
He  came  back  sharply  to  his  own  distress. 

"  Alan,"  he  said  suddenly,  careful  only  to  protect 
Miss  Sally,  and  eager  to  display  his  shameful  uncer 
tainty  and  weakness,  "if  you've  made  a  mistake 
which  involves  somebody  else,  what  ought  you  to  do  ?  " 

"Remedy  it.     Why?" 

Robert  got  up,  and  began  to  walk  about  the  room. 
The  doctor  had  turned  again  to  the  window,  and 
was  tightening  the  strings  of  his  instrument. 

"  And  yet  the  person  might  be  happier  —  mis 
taken?"  " 

"  Yes,  a  delusion  is  very  comfortable  once  in  a 
while,"  Alan  admitted ;  "  only,  unfortunately,  we 
can't  delude  people  to  make  them  comfortable.  Look 
here  ;  ask  a  straight  question,  will  you  ?  You  always 
go  ahead  sidewise !  " 


266  SIDNEY. 

"  I  can't,"  Robert  answered  hoarsely,  "  I  've  no 
right  to  ;  but  I  '11  tell  you  the  sort  of  thing  I  mean. 
Suppose  that  I  had  learned,  after  giving  it  to  you  in 
good  faith,  that  that  Corot  was  not  an  original. 
Suppose  that  you  could  never  discover  the  cheat  for 
yourself.  Should  I  tell  you  ?  " 

Alan  laughed,  glancing  at  the  dark  canvas  framed 
in  a  great  oblong  of  dull  gold  which  made  a  glim 
mering  brightness  on  the  chimney-breast.  "  Well,  I 
should  be  happier  to  be  ignorant,  no  doubt;  but 
that  does  n't  help  you  any.  I  trust  this  is  only  an 
illustration,  Robert?" 

"  You  think  I  should  tell  you  ?  " 

"Why,  I  don't  see  how  you  could  do  anything 
else,"  Alan  said,  with  that  interest  in  a  question  of 
ethics  which  is  often  a  part  of  a  lazy  temperament. 
"  I  'm  sorry  for  you  if  you  've  got  to  open  any 
body's  eyes,  but  I  'm  sorrier  for  the  other  man. 
You  've  no  choice,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  If  you  give 
what  you  think  is  a  jewel  to  your  friend,  and  after 
wards  discover  that  it  is  paste,  you  've  got  to  tell 
him,  —  all  the  more,  that  the  friend,  just  because  he 
is  a  friend,  might  never  know  it  (only  he  would ; 
those  things  always  leak  out  in  time)  ;  and  as  for 
your  picture  illustration,  which  is  unpleasantly  per 
sonal,  art  would  be  profaned  if  you  called  a  spurious 
thing  by  its  name,  to  say  nothing  of  the  lie  of  silence ! 
Poor  Bob !  " 

He  drew  his  bow  across  the  strings,  and  there  was 
a  rollicking  laugh  from  the  violin. 

Robert  groaned.  "  But  there  are  things  one  can 
not  do,  because  they  are  impossible !  " 


SIDNEY.  267 

"  That  does  not  follow,  Steele, "  Alan  said  sympa 
thetically,  watching  his  friend's  restless  walk  about 
the  room.  ("  What  in  the  world  has  come  into  his 
mind  now  ?  "  he  was  asking  himself.  "  I  wonder  if 
he  means  to  divide  his  fortune  among  the  stock 
holders  who  were  pinched,  and  is  afraid  to  break  it 
to  Miss  Sally?") 

"  I  know  it !  I  know  it !  "  cried  Robert  passion 
ately.  "Yes,  if  there  is  an  impossible  thing  de 
manded  by  duty,  by  God,  the  impossibility  is  God's, 
the  duty  is  ours.  Yes,  you  are  right,  —  you  are 
right ;  it  is  to  be  done." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  expostulated  Alan,  "  glit 
tering  generalities  are  my  forte ;  you  must  not  make 
my  words  particular.  The  first  thing  I  know,  you'll 
say  I  have  advised  you  to  do  —  Heaven  knows  what ! 
And  look  here ;  let  up  on  your  conscience  a  little ; 
don't  get  seedy  on  conscience !  I  tell  you,  Bob, 
there  is  a  point  where  concern  about  right  and 
wrong  becomes  the  subtilest  kind  of  egotism.  Yes, 
sir,  you  'd  be  a  better  man  if  you  were  n't  so  con 
foundedly  good,  —  if  you  had  a  little  more  of  the 
devil  in  you !  " 

Robert  was  not  listening ;  he  shook  his  head,  with 
a  gesture  which  meant  that  all  was  decided.  "  I 
will"  he  said  to  himself ;  and  yet,  oddly  enough,  as 
he  reached  the  point  where  he  saw  himself  capable 
of  his  duty,  a  flash  of  memory  brought  back  the 
peace  of  the  conquered  dreams,  the  refuge  of  mor 
phine.  He  thrust  it  out  of  his  mind  in  an  instant ; 
but  it  had  come. 

Alan  looked  at  him  anxiously.  "  You  make  too 
much  of  this  thing,  whatever  it  is.  If  anybody  is 


268  SIDNEY. 

mistaken  through  a  mistake  of  yours,  it  is  n't  an  un 
pardonable  offense ;  go  and  explain,  and  get  the 
thing  off  your  mind.  Man  alive !  it  is  n't  such  a 
great  matter.  One  would  think  you  were  a  young 
woman  upon  the  steps  of  the  altar  discovering  that 
she  didn't  love  the  man." 

A  strange  look  came  into  Robert's  face.  Alan 
had  a  sudden  and  terrible  thought;  so  terrible 
did  it  seem  to  him  that  even  as  it  flashed  into  his 
mind  he  banished  it,  as  an  insult  to  his  friend.  His 
face  burned  at  his  own  meanness. 

Robert  sat  down,  bending  forward,  with  his  hands 
clasped  between  his  knees.  "Alan,  the  space  be 
tween  a  man's  ideal  and  the  man  himself  is  his  op 
portunity.  But  God  help  the  man  who  hates  his 
ideal!" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  're  driving  at  ? "  said 
Alan  cheerfully. 

After  a  pause  Robert  spoke,  and  his  voice  was 
curiously  dull :  "I'm  going ;  you  have  given  me 
good  advice,  and  I  shall  take  it." 

"  Oh,  now,"  Alan  protested  again,  "  I  tell  you,  I 
object  to  giving  suggestions  in  the  dark !  " 

Robert  smiled  a  little,  but  he  had  nothing  more  to 
say.  There  seemed  to  be  no  alternative  now,  and 
that  brought  a  sort  of  peace. 

"  It  would  profane  love  to  call  a  spurious  thing  by 
its  name,"  he  thought  afterward,  going  over  Alan's 
arguments,  "  and  silence  would  be  a  lie."  To  hear 
his  own  convictions  put  into  words  by  some  one  else 
gave  him  new  confidence  in  his  often  broken  resolu 
tion  to  tell  Miss  Sally. 


SIDNEY  269 

The  doctor  was  puzzled  by  Robert's  abrupt  de 
parture,  as  well  as  by  those  confused  questions.  "  I 
swear,  there's  as  much  danger  of  overcultivating 
one's  conscience,"  he  thought,  —  "  as  of  neglecting  it. 
I  wish  he  was  n't  so  ridiculously  good ;  people  don't 
appreciate  it  unless  they  know  him  well,  and  it  keeps 
them  from  liking  him,  —  though  it  makes  them  love 
him!"  Then  he  smiled,  and  reflected  that  when 
Steele  saw  fit  to  speak  out  he  would  do  so,  and  that 
it  was  absurd  to  feel  any  anxiety  beforehand.  In 
stead,  he  began  to  think  of  Sidney,  and  later,  in  the 
afternoon,  he  went  to  Mrs.  Paul's,  where  his  hope  of 
finding  her  was  fulfilled.  She  had  come  in  to  read 
the  paper  to  the  fierce  old  woman,  who  had  grown 
more  bitter  and  impatient  in  these  last  weeks  than 
Sidney  had  ever  seen  her.  With  the  new  look  in 
Mrs.  Paul's  face,  since  her  estrangement  from  her 
son,  had  come  a  new  feeling  into  the  girl's  heart  — 
that  delicate  foresight  of  the  imagination,  which  is 
called  pity.  But  Sidney  only  knew  it  as  a  vague 
discomfort  in  Mrs.  Paul's  presence,  which  she  re 
sented  ;  so  she  kept  away  from  her  as  much  as  pos 
sible.  She  would  not  have  been  here  today,  had  she 
not  been  sent  for  ;  although  Miss  Sally  was  too  busy 
to  come,  conveniently,  and  had  thought  of  asking 
Sidney  to  take  her  place.  Miss  Sally  had  developed 
in  the  last  few  months  a  mild  self-assertion,  which 
even  Sidney  noticed,  not  because  of  what  it  was  in 
itself,  but  because  of  its  contrast  with  the  past. 
However,  as  Mrs.  Paul's  message  had  come,  it  was 
not  necessary  for  Miss  Sally  to  make  her  request, 
and  Sidney  went  over  to  the  other  house  in  silent 


270  SIDNEY. 

reluctance.  She  did  not  look  at  Mrs.  Paul  in  her 
usual  direct  way;  the  pain  and  perplexity  in  the 
face  of  the  older  woman  were  too  unpleasant.  She 
made  haste  to  open  the  daily  paper,  that  she  might 
begin  to  read  at  once,  but  stopped  for  a  moment  of 
surprise  at  seeing,  instead  of  the  broad  head-line  of 
"  The  Republican,"  on  which  she  had  been  brought 
up,  the  smaller  Roman  letters  of  "  The  Independent 
Press."  Mrs.  Paul  actually  blushed. 

"  I  'm  told  that  it  is  a  very  decent  paper.  I  am 
not  a  person  who  looks  only  on  one  side.  I  was 
never  unjust  in  my  life.  And  —  my  —  my  son  is 
connected  with  '  The  Independent  Press.'  " 

"  Yes,"  Sidney  answered,  "I  heard  Mr.  Paul  talk 
ing  of  it  to  father,  last  Sunday." 

"  Last  Sunday  ?  I  did  not  see  him  on  Sunday  — 
I  mean  I  would  not  see  him.  I  disapprove  of  this 
newspaper  folly,  and  he  knows  it.  Though  it  won't 
last,  —  it  won't  last !  But  I  am  willing  to  overlook 
it ;  he  may  come  in,  if  he  wishes  to,  the  next  time 
he  is  in  Mercer.  You  might  tell  him  so.  Only  I  '11 
have  no  talk  of  —  of  that  Townsend  girl !  Just  let 
him  understand  that !  "  Her  hands  trembled  as  she 
spoke. 

"Mrs.  Paul,"  said  Sidney  tranquilly,  "if  you 
knew  Miss  Townsend,  I  think  you  would  like  her." 

"  What !  "  cried  Mrs.  Paul.  "  You  would  dictate 
my  likes  and  dislikes,  would  you?  And  I  can  tell 
you,  I  know  quite  enough  of  her.  I  know  that  she 
meditates  marrying  my  son  against  my  wishes.  But 
how  long  is  it  that  you  have  been  an  advocate  of 
marriage,  Sidney  ?  This  shows  what  stuff  your  the 
ories  are  made  of." 


SIDNEY.  271 

"  I  think,"  the  girl  answered,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that 
it  is  a  pity  they  should  love  each  other ;  but  since 
they  do,  it  would  be  happier  for  them  if  you  were 
friendly." 

"  Well !  "  said  Mrs.  Paul.  "  But  I  don't  know 
why  I  should  expect  you  to  be  different  from  the 
rest  of  the  world  ;  of  course  you  are  inconsistent. 
Your  father  is  the  only  consistent  person  I  ever 
knew,  and  that  is  because  he  has  no  soul.  There  ! 
don't  look  at  me  in  that  manner ;  I  know  more 
about  your  father  than  you  do,  I  can  tell  you  !  And 
what  does  he  think  of  your  passion  for  this  Town- 
send  girl  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  admires  her  himself,  —  he  thinks  her 
charming." 

"  Mortimer  Lee  has  not  the  slightest  idea  what 
charming  means,"  returned  Mrs.  Paul  contemptu 
ously.  "  Now,  remember  you  are  to  tell  John  I  wish 
—  or  at  least  that  I  am  willing  that  he  should  come 
here  at  once.  I  am  tired  of  this  folly." 

"Shall  I  not  write  a  little  note,"  Sidney  pleaded, 
"  and  say  that  you  want  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  I  don't  want  to  see  him  —  un 
less  he  can  behave  himself.  Tell  him  he  may  come  ; 
do  you  hear  me  ?  I  am  willing  that  he  should  come. 
Put  it  any  way  you  choose,  only  don't  bother  me 
about  it.  Just  say  that  he  is  to  come." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Alan  made  his  appear 
ance,  and  the  subject  of  John's  disobedience  was 
dropped. 

Mrs.  Paul's  past  was  too  vivid  a  remembrance 
to  her  to  allow  her  to  feel  any  surprise  that  Alan 


272  SIDNEY. 

Crossan  came  so  often  to  see  her ;  but  for  once  she 
forgot  herself  in  the  purpose  which  had  been  grow 
ing  in  her  mind  since  that  day  when  she  suggested 
to  Major  Lee  the  possibility  which  gave  him  so 
much  discomfort.  She  was  waiting  her  time  to 
make  the  same  suggestion  to  Sidney.  Indeed,  so 
far  as  subtile  words  had  gone,  she  had  already  done 
so,  but  had  never  yet  brought  the  conscious  color 
into  the  girl's  face.  Now,  as  she  saw  Alan,  she  cried 
out,  with  a  significant  look,  "  She  is  here,  doctor !  " 
Alan's  radiant  face  answered  her.  That  any  one 
should  recognize  what  his  heart  knew  gave  it  a  real 
ity  that  elated  him  beyond  words.  "  You  are  just 
too  late  to  hear  Sidney  advocating  marriage,"  she 
continued.  "  Did  you  know  that  she  approves  of 
love  ?  " 

Alan  dared  not  look  at  the  young  woman  at  his 
side  ;  yet  he  might  have  done  so  without  giving  her 
an  instant's  embarrassment. 

"  No,  you  misunderstood  me,  Mrs.  Paul.  We 
were  speaking  of  some  people  who  love  each  other, 
Alan,  and  I  said  it  was  a  pity,  —  that  was  all." 

Alan  walked  home  with  Sidney,  tingling  with  the 
exhilaration  of  recognized  love,  but  she  was  as  un 
conscious  of  the  passion  in  his  eyes  as  a  dreamer  is 
of  the  sunshine. 


XX. 

AFTER  that  talk  with  Alan,  Robert  Steele  had  no 
doubt  as  to  what  he  should  do.  That  he  still  delayed 
to  tell  Miss  Sally  that  he  did  not  love  her  was  not 
from  any  uncertainty  as  to  his  duty,  but  simply  that 
the  crushing  misery  of  it  made  him  incapable  of 
action.  He  went  as  usual  to  see  her;  listened 
absently  to  her  gentle  and  aimless  chatter,  responded 
in  his  kindly  way,  and  —  waited.  "  Just  one  day 
more,"  he  told  himself,  again  and  again.  More  than 
once,  while  in  her  presence,  he  had  tried  to  nerve 
himself  to  his  duty,  but  her  absolute  trust  in  him 
made  her  unconscious  of  the  direction  of  his 
thoughts,  and  overwhelmed  Robert  with  the  terror 
of  what  he  had  to  do.  In  this  way  more  than  a 
fortnight  passed,  until  the  dawn  of  a  wonderful  May 
morning,  whose  beauty  protested  against  the  lie  in 
his  soul. 

Alan  had  started  out  early,  meaning  to  drop  in  at 
the  major's  and  look  at  Sidney's  carving,  before  he 
went  to  visit  a  patient;  so  Robert  waited  yet  an 
hour  longer,  not  caring  to  encounter  the  doctor 
when  he  went  to  proclaim  his  own  shame. 

Alan,  meantime,  was  walking  along  in  the  sun 
shine  towards  the  major's,  absorbed  in  his  own 
happy  imaginings.  Soon,  he  said  to  himself,  surely, 


274  SIDNEY. 

soon,  something  must  awake  in  Sidney  Lee's  heart 
to  which  he  might  address,  himself ;  as  yet  there  had 
been  nothing  but  meaningless  friendship,  and  to 
that  he  was  silent. 

He  found  her,  that  morning,  in  the  garden.  She 
was  kneeling,  with  a  trowel  in  her  hand,  beside  a 
great  bunch  of  day-lilies,  looking  at  their  broad 
leaves,  and  wondering  what  was  the  promise  for 
August  blossoming.  When  she  saw  Alan,  she  took 
him  into  her  confidence  in  the  frankest  way  in  the 
world. 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  nice  if  they  would  bloom 
when  aunt  Sally  is  married,  —  she  is  so  fond  of 
them." 

"  Won't  she  be  married  until  August  ? "  Alan 
inquired,  looking  down  into  her  calm,  upraised  eyes. 

t¥  I  think,"  she  explained  indifferently,  pausing  to 
lift  the  bending  blossom  of  a  crown  imperial,  and 
look  down  into  its  heart  at  the  three  misty  tears 
which  gather  in  the  scarlet  bell,  —  "I  think  that  she 
wants  to  finish  most  of  the  preserving  first." 

"  Oh,  Sidney !  "  he  said.  Her  complete  selfish 
ness,  here  among  the  flowers,  shocked  him  even 
through  the  glamour  of  his  love.  "  Is  n't  it  a  pity 
to  interfere  with  their  happiness  just  for  pre 
serves  ?  "  he  demanded,  laughing. 

She  rose  and  smiled ;  then  her  face  sobered. 
"  Miss  Townsend  and  Mr.  Paul  are  to  be  married 
then,  too." 

"  I  am  so  glad !  But  I  thought  it  was  to  be 
sooner  ?  " 

Sidney  looked    at   him    curiously.      "Do    people 


SIDNEY.  275 

always  say  that  they  are  glad  ?  Aunt  Sally  said  it 
when  she  heard  of  Mr.  Paul  and  Miss  Townsend, 
and  so  did  Mr.  Steele ;  and  Mrs.  Brown  said  it  of 
aunt  Sally." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  think  it  is  a  matter  of  course  to  say 
one  is  glad,"  Alan  answered,  lifting  his  eyebrows  a 
little.  "  I  suppose  it  is  civil  to  take  happiness  for 
granted."  Sidney  waited.  "  I  mean,"  he  ex 
plained,  "people  may  not  be  happy  at  all,  you 
know ;  they  may  quarrel  awfully  ;  but  it 's  civil  to 
suppose  they  won't." 

"Quarrel!" 

"Oh,  they  don't  quarrel  where  they  really  love 
each  other,  Sidney,"  he  declared ;  "  never  where 
there  is  real  love."  This  was  an  assertion  which 
Alan  would  have  been  the  first  to  find  amusing  if 
another  man  had  made  it. 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  speaking  of  people  who 
loved  each  other,"  she  said  simply,  — "  married 
people?" 

What  young  man  in  love  could  resist  the  tempta 
tion  to  instruct  such  ignorance  ?  Not,  certainly, 
Alan  Crossan.  And  yet,  despite  the  eloquence  with 
which  he  explained,  Sidney  still  looked  a  little  puz 
zled.  "  Oh,"  he  cried,  at  last,  impatiently,  "you  are 
like  a  person  from  another  world,  —  you  don't 
understand  what  I  am  saying !  " 

It  was  one  of  those  perfect  spring  days,  without  a 
breath  of  wind  to  ruffle  the  silence  of  the  sky,  or  a 
cloud  to  blur  the  sparkling  blue  in  which  the  world 
was  wrapped.  There  was  the  subtle  fragrance  of 
sunshine  and  freshly  dug  earth ;  a  row  of  cherry 


276  SIDNEY. 

trees  in  Mrs.  Paul's  garden  stood  white  against  the 
blue,  and  now  and  then  a  breath  of  their  aromatic 
sweetness  wandered  through  the  still  air.  The 
young  man  and  young  woman,  the  young  day,  the 
first  flowers,  the  twitter  of  birds  swinging  in  the 
vines  upon  the  wall,  or  whirling  in  and  out  among 
the  cherry  blossoms,  —  surely  words  were  hardly 
needed ! 

Sidney  and  Alan  had  walked  along  the  shadowy 
path  towards  the  sun-dial  in  the  evergreen  circle, 
and  there  he  begged  her  to  sit  down  on  the  crescent- 
shaped  bench.  They  were  silent  for  a  moment, 
listening  to  the  murmur  of  the  busy  town  outside 
the  garden  walls,  and  then  Alan  said,  a  How  strange 
it  is,  —  this  quiet  spot  in  the  middle  of  all  that 
clamor  !  How  shut  off  we  are  from  it  all !  "  Sid 
ney  had  taken  off  her  hat,  and  was  leaning  back, 
looking  up  between  the  points  of  the  firs  at  the  sky. 

"  It  is  like  your  life,"  he  continued  ;  "  it  is  some 
thing  apart,  —  something  which  does  not  belong  to 
its  time." 

"  It  is  very  pleasant,  —  I  mean  the  garden." 

"  But  it  is  not  very  great !  "  cried  the  young 
man. 

"  My  life  or  the  garden  ?  "  she  questioned,  with 
happy  indifference  in  her  face. 

"  Of  course  —  your  life.  It  is  neither  happy  nor 
unhappy,  so  it  cannot  be  great." 

Sidney  shook  her  head.  "  I  am  perfectly  happy," 
she  declared.  "  As  for  greatness,  I  don't  care  for 
greatness  ;  I  only  want  happiness." 

"  You  will  fail  of  either,"  he  said  abruptly ;  and 


SIDNEY.  277 

then,  having  gone  no  further  in  his  love-making 
than  that  point  where  a  man  falls  readily  into  the 
vice  of  quotation,  he  began  to  say,  his  face  radiant 
with  the  happiness  of  inexperience,  — 

"  '  Then  welcome  each  rebuff 

That  turns  earth's  smoothness  rough, 
Each  sting  that  bids  nor  sit  nor  stand,  but  go  I 
Be  our  joys  three  parts  pain ! 
Strive,  and  hold  cheap  the  strain.'  " 

Sidney  looked  at  him  with  a  sparkle  of  laughter 
in  her  eyes.  "  Now,  Alan,  what  do  you  know  about 
'  roughness  '  ?  For  my  part,  I  confess  I  'm  content 
with  peace."  She  smiled,  with  that  serious  sweet 
ness  which  had  always  charmed  him.  The  soft  air, 
the  sunshine,  the  flickering  white  of  the  cherry 
trees,  Alan's  presence,  in  a  word,  youth,  gave  her  all 
she  needed,  while  she  was  yet  unaware  that  she  had 
need  of  anything. 

"  Such  content  is  only  ignorance  ;  you  must  have 
infinitely  more  to  make  life  great,  to  make  it  worth 
having !  " 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked  lightly. 

Alan  drew  a  quick  breath.  He  had  not  meant  to 
tell  her  —  yet ;  he  had  not  meant  even  to  general 
ize  ;  he  still  felt  lingering  doubts  about  his  respon 
sibility  to  the  major ;  more  than  all,  he  had  declared 
that  Sidney  should  not  know  his  deepest  life  until 
she  had  herself  begun  to  live,  —  he  would  not  startle 
her  into  repulsion.  But  now  he  did  not  stop  to  say, 
Is  it  wise  ?  still  less,  Is  it  right  ? 

"What?"  she  asked  again,  turning  to  look  at 
him. 


278  SIDNEY. 

Alan's  hand  tightened  upon  his  knee.  "  Love," 
he  said. 

Sidney  Lee  started ;  a  slow,  fine  color  burned 
across  her  cheek,  and  was  gone.  There  was  a 
breathless  moment  between  them  ;  for  the  first  time 
she  did  not  meet  his  eyes.  But  when  she  spoke  her 
voice  was  as  even  as  his  had  been  shaken. 

"  Greatness  at  such  a  cost  ?  I  cannot  see  how 
any  one  can  desire  it,  —  greatness  that  grows  out  of 
unhappiness  !  " 

"  You  are  wrong,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  It 
is  n't  unhappiness,  —  love." 

"  It  brings  unhappiness,"  she  replied  calmly. 

"  It  makes  life  glorious !  "  he  cried.  The  hope 
which  had  been  hidden  in  his  face,  which  had  baffled 
Sidney  and  tormented  Major  Lee  during  these  last 
few  months,  challenged  her  from  his  eyes.  Not 
knowing  why,  she  rose,  trembling,  breathless. 

"  Yes  —  while  it  lasts ;  but  it  does  n't  last,  you 
know."  She  wanted  to  go  away ;  the  tumult  in  her 
placid  soul  frightened  her ;  there  was  a  flying  ter 
ror  in  her  eyes. 

"  But  you  don't  think  of  that ;  the  joy  "  — 

"  Forgetfulness  does  not  cheat  death,"  she  inter 
rupted  ;  "  and  the  joy  ?  I  should  think  that  would 
make  the  calamity  at  the  end  greater  for  its  great 
ness." 

"  Sidney,"  —  Alan  began,  and  stopped.  Some 
one  was  coming  along  the  path  towards  the  sun-dial. 
Sidney  had  grown  very  white,  but  now  suddenly  a 
flood  of  color  mounted  to  her  forehead ;  her  eyes 
stung  with  tears.  She  was  conscious  only  of  anger 


SIDNEY.  279 

at  this  extraordinary  embarrassment.  Why  should 
she  want  to  hide  her  face  as  Robert  Steele  came 
upon  them  ?  Why  should  her  voice  tremble  when 
she  answered  his  greeting  ?  She  was  dumfounded 
at  herself.  What  did  it  mean  ?  She  could  hear,  as 
though  at  a  distance,  Alan  laughing  at  Robert's 
anxious  voice,  as  he  asked  where  Miss  Sally  was. 
Alan  was  entirely  himself,  and  good-naturedly  mat 
ter  of  fact.  Sidney's  confusion  gave  her  a  moment 
of  positive  faintness. 

"  Sidney  is  neglecting  her  carving,"  she  heard  him 
declare.  "  I  have  reproached  her  so  that  she  vows 
she  won't  have  me  for  an  instructor.  No,  I  'm  sure 
I  don't  know  where  Miss  Sally  is,  Bob ;  probably 
delving  in  a  tenement  house  after  somebody's  soul." 

"I'll  —  I'll  wait,  I  think,"  Robert  answered; 
and  his  voice  seemed  to  grope  like  a  blind  man. 

"  Oh,  will  you?"  said  Alan  blankly. 

Robert  sat  down  beside  them  in  silence.  For  a 
moment  no  one  spoke.  Then  the  doctor  proposed, 
gayly,  that  Sidney  should  let  him  see  her  work. 
"  You  must  not  be  discouraged.  I  '11  give  you  an 
easier  design."  He  rose.  "  Come  !  "  he  entreated. 

"  Won't  you  wait  for  aunt  Sally  in  the  house  ?  " 
Sidney  said,  looking  at  Mr.  Steele. 

"  Yes,"  he  responded  miserably.  He  would  have 
followed  them  without  this  invitation ;  he  had  the 
*  human  instinct  to  seek  companionship  in  suffering. 
He  even  went  into  the  lumber-room  with  them,  and 
glanced  with  unseeing  eyes  at  Sidney's  work,  —  a 
curious  piece  of  deep  carving,  a  bitter  and  evil  face 
under  a  wreath  of  laurel  leaves. 


280  SIDNEY. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  and  meet  Miss  Sally,  Bob  ?  " 
Alan  suggested,  for  Sidney  had  recovered  her  voice 
enough  to  say  that  her  aunt  had  gone  in  to  Mrs. 
Paul's. 

Robert  was  incapable  of  suspecting  Alan  of  diplo 
macy,  so  he  only  repeated  dully,  "  I  will  wait." 

"  You  need  her  to  cheer  you  up,"  Alan  com 
mented  ;  "  you  look  awfully  down  in  the  mouth." 

Sidney,  hearing  his  careless  words,  was  bewildered 
by  her  own  questions.  What  had  it  meant,  that 
thrill  in  his  voice,  that  wonderful  light  in  his  eyes, 
most  of  all  that  sudden  storm  in  her  own  heart  ? 
Yet  now  Alan  was  jesting  with  Mr.  Steele,  and  she, 
too,  was  apparently  quite  composed,  although  be 
neath  the  surface  she  was  stinging  with  sharp  an 
noyance  at  herself.  She  lifted  one  of  her  tools,  and 
saw  with  dismay  that  her  hand  was  unsteady ;  she 
was  almost  terrified,  —  her  very  body  was  playing 
her  false.  Unreasoning  anger  made  her  answer 
Alan,  shortly,  that  she  would  rather  not  carve  that 
morning.  She  put  her  hands  behind  her  and  held 
her  head  with  a  proud  indifference ;  she  said  to  her 
self  that  she  hated  Alan,  and  she  wished  he  would 
go  away.  The  doctor,  however,  had  no  such  inten 
tion  ;  he  took  up  a  tool,  and  began  to  praise  and 
criticise  with  as  much  discrimination  as  though  he 
were  not  raging  at  his  friend,  who  stood  silently  at 
his  elbow.  Even  in  his  annoyance  he  felt  vaguely* 
that  this  silence  of  Robert's  was  strange,  and  he 
looked  at  him  once  or  twice  keenly.  "  Poor  Bob  !  " 
he  said  to  himself.  "  Confound  him  !  " 

When  Robert  saw  Miss  Sally  push  open  the  door 


SIDNEY.  281 

in  the  garden  wall,  he  went  with  a  heavy  step  into 
the  parlor  to  await  her.  But  by  that  time  a  subtile 
distance  had  come  between  Alan  and  the  young 
woman.  Sidney's  composure  made  it  impossible  to 
turn  the  conversation  in  the  direction  it  had  taken 
out  in  the  sunshine.  Those  words  belonged  to  the 
blue  sky,  and  the  white  gleam  of  cherry  blossoms, 
and  the  twitter  of  birds ;  here,  in  the  gloom  of  the 
lumber-room,  with  the  murmur  of  voices  from  the 
parlor,  nothing  was  possible  but  the  business  in 
hand,  and  so  Alan  talked  about  the  carving  as  long 
as  he  could  endure  the  antagonism  of  Sidney's 
silence,  and  then  he  went  away. 

Robert  Steele  only  had  to  wait  in  the  parlor  for 
Miss  Sally  a  moment  or  two ;  when  he  heard  her 
light,  quick  step  in  the  hall,  it  seemed  to  him  he 
could  count  his  heartbeats.  Miss  Sally  had  gone  to 
Mrs.  Paul's  that  morning,  although  Sidney  had 
promised  to  do  so.  "  But  you  know  I  must  be  out 
in  the  garden,"  the  girl  pleaded.  So  Miss  Sally 
read  "  The  Independent  Press,"  and  talked,  or  tried 
to,  until  Mrs.  Paul's  patience  gave  way  over  some 
trifling  exactness  in  her  mild  little  visitor. 

"  Sally,"  she  cried  sharply,  "  you  were  an  old  maid 
when  you  were  born ;  and  I  don't  care  how  often 
you  get  married,  you'll  be  an  old  maid  when  you 
die!" 

Miss  Sally  was  so  earnest  in  her  desire  to  be 
agreeable  that  she  laughed  tremulously,  which  an 
noyed  Mrs.  Paul  so  much  that  she  ordered  her  to 
go  home,  and  not  be  a  goose.  Miss  Sally,  still 
anxious  to  please,  said,  "Oh,  yes,  I  think  I  must 


282  SIDNEY. 

go,"  —  this  to  keep  Mrs.  Paul  from  any  conscious 
ness  of  rudeness.     "  I  '11  get  ready  at  once." 

"  Oh,  pray,  Sally,  don't  get  ready ;  be  ready,  for 
once  in  your  life !  "  returned  the  older  woman. 
Then  she  watched  her  impatiently  while  Miss  Sally, 
with  small,  trembling  fingers,  buttoned  her  cloak, 
and  wrapped  her  long  white  nubia  round  and  round 
her  face. 

"  I  've  had  neuralgia,"  she  explained.  Miss  Sally 
was  always  experimenting  with  human  nature  ;  it 
seemed  to  her  that  Mrs.  Paul  must  be  sympathetic. 
On  the  contrary,  a  retort  upon  the  indecency  of 
talking  of  one's  ailments  sent  the  gentle  soul  home 
almost  in  tears.  She  stopped  under  the  cherry 
trees  to  wipe  her  kind  eyes,  and  then  to  bend  down 
to  smell  the  lilies  of  the  valley,  growing  thick  in 
the  shadow  of  the  wall ;  so  that  by  the  time  she 
reached  the  parlor  and  her  lover  she  was  her  own 
cheerful  self  again. 

But  Robert's  haggard  face  brought  an  anxious 
look  into  her  eyes.  "  I  hope  you  are  very  well,  Mr. 
Steele  ?  "  she  said.  Miss  Sally  had  never  gone  be 
yond  "  Mr.  Steele." 

He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips,  but  made  no  reply. 
Her  affection  ("Love"  Robert  called  it,  to  him 
self)  seemed  to  him  more  than  he  could  bear.  Miss 
Sally  did  not  dream  of  being  hurt  or  surprised  that 
he  had  not  kissed  her.  If  she  had  stopped  to  think 
of  it  at  all,  it  would  have  been  to  wonder  why  he 
should  ever  kiss  her  :  she  could  count  upon  her  fin 
gers  the  number  of  times  that  he  had  done  so. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said  brightly,  un- 


SIDNEY.  283 

winding  her  nubia  as  she  spoke.  "  I  want  to  ask 
you  what  you  think  would  be  nice  to  give  that  sweet 
Katherine  for  a  wedding  present.  I  know  it  is 
pretty  far  off,  —  August ;  but  it  is  so  pleasant  to 
plan  things.  And  you  know  they  won't  have  much 
money,  unless  dear  Mrs.  Paul  will  forgive  John. 
Dear  me,  she  could  n't  help  it,  if  she  would  but  con 
sent  to  see  Katherine.  I  tried  to  suggest  it,"  said 
Miss  Sally,  turning  pale  at  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Paul's 
fury ;  "  but  you  know  she  has  such  a  fine  mind,  she 
does  n't  like  to  be  dictated  to,  though  I  'm  sure  I 
did  n't  mean  "  — 

Robert  was  absently  holding  her  hand,  but  here 
he  dropped  it,  and  began  to  walk  restlessly  about 
the  room.  Miss  Sally  looked  puzzled.  Then  she 
remembered  that  she  had  not  removed  her  overshoes, 
and,  with  a  little  hurried  apology,  ran  out  into  the 
hall  to  take  them  off.  When  she  came  back,  she 
was  startled  by  his  face.  "  Why,  is  there  anything 
the  matter?" 

Robert  whitened  under  her  kindly  look.  "Yes, 
there  is  something  the  matter,"  he  almost  groaned. 
Then  he  gathered  all  his  manliness  together:  he 
must  not  think  of  himself,  he  must  not  even  suffer, 
—  the  justice  of  pain  was  almost  relief,  and  he  did 
not  deserve  that ;  he  must  only  think  how  to  spare 
her,  how  to  tell  her  the  truth  as  tenderly  and  as  faith 
fully  as  his  unworthy  lips  might  utter  it.  He  came 
and  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  yellow  satin  sofa, 
but  he  did  not  take  her  hand.  There  was  an  empty 
moment,  in  which  they  heard  the  voices  in  the  room 
beyond  ;  and  then,  through  the  open  window,  up  out 


284  SIDNEY. 

of  the  sunny  street,  came  a  wandering  strain  from 
Verdi,  trailing  off  into  silence  as  the  itinerant  mu 
sician  moved  further  away. 

"  I  have  come  here,"  Robert  said  slowly  and  dis 
tinctly,  looking  all  the  while  at  the  portrait  at  the 
further  end  of  the  room,  and  noting,  with  that  ex 
traordinary  faculty  of  the  mind  to  observe  trivial 
things  in  the  extremest  pain,  how  cruel  was  the 
curve  of  the  beautiful  lip,  and  vaguely  aware  that 
he  was  associating  it  with  the  white  glitter  of  cherry 
blossoms  and  the  careless  sweetness  of  Sidney's 
voice,  —  "I have  come  here  to  tell  you  that  I  am  an 
unworthy  man  ;  to  tell  you  that  my  life  is  yours,  that 
all  that  I  have  or  hope  is  yours,  but  I  am  not  worthy 
that  you  should  look  upon  me.  I  have  come  here 
to  tell  you  this."  Miss  Sally  was  bewildered  ;  there 
were  tears  in  Robert's  eyes,  and  his  lips  were  un 
steady.  "I  am  unworthy  that  you  should  marry 
me,"  he  said. 

"  Nonsense !  "  cried  Miss  Sally  cheerfully.  "  Of 
course  you  are  worthy  for  anybody  to  marry.  But 
you  are  not  well,  or  you  would  not  be  so  low-spirited. 
I  saw  that  the  moment  I  came  in."  She  looked  at 
him  with  affectionate  concern.  His  words  were 
merely  a  symptom,  in  Miss  Sally's  mind,  —  he  had 
taken  cold,  he  was  overtired ;  and  her  solicitude  sug 
gested  her  manual,  or,  at  the  very  least,  Alan.  She 
put  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  blushing  a  little  at  the 
boldness  of  a  caress.  "  You  must  be  more  careful 
of  yourself." 

Robert  stared  at  her  blankly ;  his  face  was  full  of 
helpless  despair.  As  for  Miss  Sally,  she  reflected, 


SIDNEY.  285 

with  comfortable  common  sense,  that  when  a  man 
was  in  such  a  nervous  state  the  only  thing  to  do  was 
to  take  his  mind  away  from  himself  ;  and  so,  in  her 
pleasant  voice,  she  chattered  of  half  a  dozen  pleasant 
things,  never  waiting  for  his  replies,  and  ending, 
with  a  woman's  instinctive  and  happy  interest  in  a 
wedding,  with  the  assertion  that  she  and  Robert 
must  give  Katherine  something  practical. 

44  Dear  me,"  declared  Miss  Sally,  "  I  suppose  it 's 
sympathy,  but  I  am  perfectly  delighted  for  them  !  " 

Robert  had  been  so  flung  back  upon  himself  by 
her  failure  to  understand  him  that,  during  all  this 
talk,  he  could  only  struggle  dumbly  towards  the 
point  at  which  he  had  begun,  and  when  at  last  he 
said,  44 1  cannot  lie  to  you  ;  you  must  know  how  base  I 
am,  how  dishonorable,"  it  was  evident  that  he  had 
not  heard  one  word  she  had  been  saying.  "  I  want 
you  to  know  what  I  am,  and  then,  if  you  will  trust 
me,  if  you  will  tell  me  that  you  will  marry  me,  oh,  I 
shall  thank  God  —  I"  —  What  else  he  said  he 
never  knew ;  only  that  over  and  over  again,  after 
the  truth  was  told,  he  implored  her  to  let  him  devote 
his  miserable  life  to  her,  to  let  him  atone  for  his  ter 
rible  mistake,  to  be  his  wife. 

He  did  not  look  at  her,  but  he  felt  that  she  was 
drawing  herself  away  from  him.  The  changes  in  the 
atmosphere  of  the  soul  are  as  unmistakable  as  they 
are  intangible.  The  broken  and  humiliated  man 
knew,  before  she  spoke,  that  it  was  the  sister  of 
Mortimer  Lee  who  answered  him  ;  little  kindly  Miss 
Sally  had  gone  out  of  his  life  forever.  She  rose, 
and  stood  looking  down  at  him  for  a  moment ;  when 


286  SIDNEY. 

she  spoke,  her  voice  was  perfectly  calm,  though  her 
face  was  pale.  Robert  felt,  although  he  dared  not 
look  at  her,  that  she  even  smiled  slightly. 

"  Mr.  Steele,"  —  he  started,  the  tone  was  so  like 
her  brother's.  —  "  pray  do  not  be  disturbed.  Pray 
do  not  give  it  another  thought." 

"  I  honor  you  above  any  woman  I  have  ever 
known ;  your  goodness  makes  it  easier  to  believe  in 
God's  goodness.  But  I  could  not  deceive  you ;  I 
could  not  let  you  think  I  had  given  you  what  it  is 
not  in  my  weak,  miserable  nature  to  give  any  one,  — 
love  such  as  you  ought  to  receive.  But  take  all  I 
can  give,  Miss  Lee ;  take  my  life,  and  loyalty,  and 
gratitude ;  let  things  be  as  they  have  been." 

"  There  has  never  been  anything,"  she  answered, 
with  such  placid  dignity  that  Robert  dared  not  en 
treat  her,  "  and,  don't  you  see,  there  never  can  be  ? 
There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said,  please."  She 
looked  at  him,  and  then  all  the  gentleness  came  back 
into  her  face  and  her  eyes  filled.  "  I  am  so  sorry  for 
you,"  she  said  simply.  Then,  quietly,  she  left  him. 

Robert  Steele  did  not  move,  even  to  follow  her 
with  his  eyes ;  he  sat  there  upon  the  yellow  sofa, 
his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast,  his  hands  hanging 
listlessly  between  his  knees.  The  shadows  from  the 
swinging  branches  of  the  ailantus  tree  in  the  court 
yard  fell  across  a  square  of  sunshine  on  the  carpet 
at  his  feet ;  little  by  little  the  bar  of  light  traversed 
the  dusky  room,  until  it  reached  the  portrait  and 
touched  the  calm  eyes  of  Sidney's  mother. 

He  watched  the  silent,  joyous  dance  of  sun  and 
shadows ;  he  was  incapable  of  thought,  but  a  dull 


SIDNEY.  287 

sense  of  what  Sidney's  contempt  for  him  would  be 
when  she  learned  what  he  had  done,  took  the  place 
of  remorse  and  self-reproach. 

He  saw  Alan  cross  the  courtyard,  and  heard  the 
iron  gate  creak  on  its  rusty  hinges,  as  the  doctor 
went  out  into  the  lane.  A  little  later,  Major  Lee 
came  up  the  steps ;  and  then  he  heard  Sidney  tell 
her  father,  carelessly,  that  her  aunt  had  a  headache, 
and  would  not  be  down  to  dinner.  No  one  caught 
sight  of  him  in  the  darker  end  of  the  parlor,  half 
hidden  by  the  open  door.  It  must  have  been  long 
after  noon  when  he  left  the  house ;  he  did  not  stay 
because  he  hoped  to  see  Miss  Sally  again,  but  only 
because  he  had  not  the  strength  to  go  away. 

It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  when  Alan  Crossan  en 
tered  his  house.  The  day  had  been  a  good  one  to 
the  doctor.  The  glory  of  the  morning  had  touched 
every  hour  afterwards.  He  was  still  elate  and  joy 
ous,  but  on  the  threshold  of  the  library  he  stopped, 
appalled.  In  his  absorption,  these  last  few  weeks, 
he  had  become  perfectly  accustomed  to  what  he 
thought  of  as  the  meaningless  distress  in  Kobert's 
face,  and  scarcely  any  accentuation  of  that  pain 
could  have  startled  him.  But  there  was  no  distress 
in  it  now;  only  dull  silence.  He  went  over  and 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder,  in  an  authoritative 
way. 

"  You  have  taken  morphine,"  he  said. 


XXI. 

MRS.  PAUL  had  not  seen  her  son  for  nearly  six 
weeks,  when,  the  first  Sunday  evening  that  he 
chanced  to  be  in  Mercer  after  having  received  Sid 
ney's  message,  he  entered  her  drawing-room.  Dur 
ing  that  time  she  passed  from  rage  to  contempt, 
then  to  indifference,  and  now  she  had  reached  some 
thing  like  fright.  Not  that  she  feared  losing  John's 
affection,  —  it  was  not  credible  to  Mrs.  Paul  that 
she  could  lose  the  affection  of  any  one ;  but  she  had 
an  awful  glimpse  of  a  desolate  old  age.  Who  would 
play  at  draughts  with  her  in  the  long  evenings? 
Who  would  listen  patiently  to  her  gibes  and  sneers? 
Scarlett  might  do  the  latter,  perhaps,  —  that  was 
what  she  was  paid  for,  —  but  there  was  no  feeling 
in  her  silent  endurance.  Sidney  might  be  sum 
moned  for  the  former,  except  that  of  late  Mrs.  Paul 
had  found  Sidney  less  interesting.  Not  from  any 
change  in  the  girl,  but  because  her  project  concern 
ing  Mr.  Steele  had  fallen  through,  and  mostly  be 
cause  her  own  interest  of  anger  at  her  son  pressed 
upon  her  and  shut  Sidney  out.  She  was  in  a  state 
of  tremulous  fierceness  when  at  last  the  night  came 
on  which  John  Paul,  with  new  and  leisurely  indiffer 
ence,  presented  himself  at  her  door. 

"Well,"  she  said,  rapping  the. little  table  at  her 
side  sharply,  "  you  are  here,  are  you  ?  I  told  Sid- 


SIDNEY.  289 

ney  that  if  you  were  sorry  for  your  conduct  you 
might  come  home."  John  raised  his  eyebrows. 
"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Paul  declared,  "  I  'm  willing  to  overlook 
your  behavior.  Every  man  has  in  him  the  capaci 
ty  of  absolute  idiocy  at  some  time  or  other  in  his 
life,  and  that  was  your  opportunity.  Well,  you  im 
proved  it,  Johnny,  —  you  improved  it.  I  'm  willing 
to  forgive  and  forget,"  she  continued.  "  We  '11  say 
no  more  about  it.  Just  wind  up  this  '  Independent 
Press '  folly  as  soon  as  you  can.  Do  you  want  any 
money  for  it  ?  " 

But  there  was  something  in  her  son's  look  that 
troubled  her.  In  spite  of  her  bold  words,  her  voice 
shook.  In  the  brief  answer  that  John  made,  Mrs. 
Paul  heard  her  defeat  announced  ;  heard,  but  could 
not  realize  nor  accept  it.  She  grew  so  angry  that 
her  son  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  and  refused 
to  look  at  her. 

"  You  shall  not  marry  that  woman  !  "  she  cried ; 
"  or,  if  you  do,  not  a  cent  of  my  money  shall  you 
have,  —  do  you  hear  me  ?  And  she  shall  never  en 
ter  my  house,  —  do  you  understand  me  ?  I  will  not 
see  her." 

John  had  been  standing  silently  all  this  time, 
frowning  at  the  jug  of  lilacs  in  the  fireplace  ;  once 
he  lifted  from  the  mantelpiece  a  carved  and  fretted 
ball  of  ivory  which  held  another  within  its  circling 
mystery,  and  looked  at  it  critically ;  then  he  put  it 
down,  and  waited  for  his  mother  to  continue  ;  but 
he  glanced  at  the  clock  in  an  absent,  indifferent 
way. 

"  You  are  a  cruel  and  unnatural  son  !  "  she  said, 
her  voice  breaking  into  tears. 


290  K±DNEY. 

John  looked  at  her  with  attention.  "  Yes,  I  think 
I  am  unnatural,  but  I  can't  help  it  now ;  neither  of 
us  can  help  it  now.  I  am  what  you  have  made  me ; 
I  suppose  I  am  hard.  I  am  sorry." 

"  Hard?     You  are  stone  !     My  only  son !  " 

John  sighed.  Human  nature  is  as  helpless  to  re 
store  as  to  create  love.  But  had  he  ever  loved  his 
mother  ?  He  had  certainly  never  analyzed  his  feel 
ing  for  her.  Affection  for  one's  mother  is  a  matter 
of  course ;  it  is  a  conventionality,  in  a  way.  But 
now  something  had  snapped,  something  had  broken ; 
he  no  longer  took  his  affection  for  granted. 

"  No,"  he  thought  sadly,  looking  away  from  her 
convulsed  face,  "  I  do  not  love  you ;  and  I  shall 
never  forgive  you."  He  knew  quite  well  that,  no 
matter  what  gloss  of  reconciliation  might  cover  that 
awful  scene  when  she  had  accused  and  condoned  at 
once,  he  could  never  forget  it. 

Those  promises  of  pardon  which  we  bestow  so 
readily  are  apt  to  be  given  without  thought  of  this 
terrible  and  inescapable  power  of  memory.  The 
lover  or  the  husband,  the  mother  or  the  child,  may 
love  as  deeply  as  before  the  quarrel  or  the  crime, 
but  the  remembrance  of  one  bad  and  cruel  word,  the 
color  of  a  tone,  the  meaning  in  the  glance  of  an  eye, 
will  too  often  linger  in  the  soul ;  such  a  recollection 
will  start  up  between  two  kisses,  force  itself  beneath 
the  hand  that  blesses,  be  renewed  in  vows  of  re 
newed  tenderness.  No  assertions  of  forgiveness  or 
of  love  can  blot  it  out ;  it  is  as  immortal  as  the  soul. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Paul  read  the  inexorable  truth  in 
her  son's  face ;  her  anger  was  drowned  in  a  new 


SIDNEY.  291 

emotion.  She  looked  suddenly  up  at  Annette's 
picture. 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  die  ? "  she  said,  half  aloud. 
"  It  is  your  fault.  I  would  have  been  different  "  — 

"  I  must  go,"  John  was  saying  constrainedly. 
"  Should  you  need  me  at  any  time,  I  will  come  at 
once.  Mother,  I  wish  you  would  let  Katherine 
come  to  see  you  ?  " 

But  she  burst  out  into  such  bitter  insult  to  the 
woman  he  loved,  that,  without  another  word,  he  left 
her. 

She  did  not  even  ring  for  Scarlett  when  he  had 
gone,  and  she  was  wonderfully  quiet  all  that  evening. 
Davids  noticed  that  she  left  the  tea-table  without 
eating,  and  he  hazarded  the  remark  to  Scarlett  that 
he  believed  she  cared  more  for  Mr.  John  than  she 
had  ever  let  on.  Scarlett's  response  of  silence  made 
him,  as  usual,  quite  angry,  but  left  him  with  that 
sense  of  her  wisdom  which  the  mystery  of  reserve  is 
sure  to  produce. 

"  Lord !  "  said  Davids,  "  if  I  could  hold  my 
tongue  like  her,  she  'd  think  me  something  great !  " 

Mrs.  Paul  was  experiencing  this  same  respect  for 
silence.  If  John  had  argued,  or  attempted  to  ex 
plain,  she  could  have  had  all  the  solace  of  her  own 
rush  of  angry  words.  She  felt,  unanswered,  like 
a  flying  brig,  left  suddenly  to  the  waves  without 
the  driving  force  of  the  hurricane.  Her  own  fury 
tossed  and  beat  her,  but  without  John's  anger  she 
could  make  no  progress. 

She  did  not  sleep  much  that  night ;  she  thought 
persistently  of  Miss  Towrsend.  She  wished,  with 


292  SIDNEY. 

hot  resentment,  that  she  could  see  her,  —  at  a  dis 
tance,  —  so  that  she  might  know  what  sort  of  a  per 
son  it  was  who  had  wrought  this  change  in  her  son. 
Alone  in  the  darkness  of  her  bedroom,  the  slow  and 
scanty  tears  burned  in  her  eyes  and  dropped  upon 
her  pillow  ;  the  old  grief  for  the  dead  Annette,  the 
grief  which  had  railed  at  Heaven,  but  hidden  itself 
so  completely  that  no  one  knew  that  it  existed,  was 
sobbed  out  again  in  despair  and  hatred  of  ail  the 
world.  "  Why  did  she  die?  Mortimer  is  right;  it 
is  not  worth  while  to  love  any  one.  Oh,  I  wish  she 
had  never  been  born  !  "  The  thought  came  to  her 
at  last,  —  it  was  towards  dawn,  and  the  furniture 
was  beginning  to  shape  itself  out  of  the  shadows  as 
the  windows  grew  into  oblongs  of  gray  light,  —  the 
thought  came  to  her  that  she  might  go  to  see  this 
young  woman ;  yes,  and  tell  her  what  she  thought 
of  her,  and  what  would  be  the  result  if  she  married 
John,  —  which,  of  course,  would  end  the  matter,  for 
all  the  girl  wanted  was  money.  Rage  which  can  be 
expressed  in  action  is  almost  pleasure.  Mrs.  Paul  fell 
asleep  when  she  had  thought  this  all  out ;  but  Scar 
lett  was  startled  by  her  white  face  and  haggard  eyes, 
when  she  brought  in  the  coffee  the  next  morning. 

"  Tell  Davids,"  Mrs.  Paul  said,  as  she  sat  before 
the  oval  mirror  of  her  dressing-table,  and  watched 
the  woman  puff  her  hair  with  delicate  and  gentle 
little  fingers,  —  "  tell  Davids  to  go  to  the  major's, 
and  say  '  Mrs.  Paul's  love,  and  will  Miss  Lee  step 
over  for  a  few  minutes  after  breakfast  ? ' ' 

"  Miss  Sally  ? "  asked  Scarlett,  whose  sense  of 
justice  always  made  this  little  protest  for  Miss 
Sally's  dignity. 


SIDNEY.  293 

"  Of  course  not !  "  cried  Mrs.  Paul.  "  I  said  Miss 
Lee." 

Sidney  came,  and  was  asked,  in  the  most  casual 
way  in  the  world,  where  "  that  Townsend  girl " 
lived,  although  the  desire  for  such  information  was 
not  explained. 

Mrs.  Paul  had  ordered  the  carriage  for  two 
o'clock,  and  she  drove  towards  Red  Lane  with  a 
face  which  tried  to  hide  its  eagerness  beneath  the 
greatest  indifference.  She  had  been  full  of  excuses 
all  that  morning,  explaining  to  herself  that  this  ap 
parent  weakening  was  only  strength.  Johnny  should 
see  he  could  not  defy  her ;  she  would  put  a  stop  to 
his  absurdities  once  for  all.  No  fear  that  the  young 
woman  would  want  to  marry  him  when  she  knew 
the  facts  of  the  case. 

Miss  Katherine  Townsend,  however,  was  away 
from  home,  and  Mrs.  Paul's  anger  was  for  the  mo 
ment  restrained.  "  I  will  wait,"  she  said,  sweeping 
past  Maria,  who  was  very  much  overcome  by  the 
caller's  rustling  silks,  as  well  as  by  her  impatient 
and  disdainful  eyes.  It  was  curious  that  the  ser 
vant's  vacant  face  and  the  plainness  of  the  house 
should  have  aroused  in  Mrs.  Paul,  not  anger  at 
John,  but  the  old  indignation  at  what,  long  ago,  she 
had  called  the  "  low  tastes"  of  her  husband.  "  He 
gets  it  from  his  father,"  she  thought,  her  lip  curling 
as  she  looked  about  at  the  severe  but  cheerful  room. 

The  walls  between  the  windows  and  doors  were 
covered  with  bookshelves,  so  that  there  was  no  room 
for  pictures  ;  the  piano  was  open,  and  sheets  of  music 
were  scattered  beside  it ;  there  was  no  carpet  on  the 


294  SIDNEY. 

painted  floor,  "  only,"  said  Mrs.  Paul  to  herself, 
"  those  detestable  slippery  rugs."  On  the  table  was 
a  great  India  china  bowl  full  of  locust  blossoms. 
The  shutters  were  bowed,  for  the  day  was  warm, 
and  one  ray  of  sunshine  fell  between  them,  striking 
white  upon  the  flowers,  but  the  rest  of  the  room  was 
shadowy  ;  so  dusky,  indeed,  that  Mrs.  Paul  did  not 
observe  Ted  standing  in  the  doorway,  his  grave  little 
head  on  one  side  and  his  hands  behind  him. 

"  Who,"  he  observed  at  last,  "  are  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  thought  Mrs.  Paul,  "this  is  the  brother. 
Of  course  the  child  is  pert  and  forward." 

"  Kitty  says,"  said  Ted  gently,  "  'at  it 's  polite 
to  speak  when  you  are  spoken  to." 

"  You  are  an  impertinent  boy  !  "  Mrs.  Paul  assured 
him.  She  put  her  glasses  on  and  inspected  him. 

"  No,"  Ted  corrected  her,  "  I  'm  not  an  imperti 
nent  boy.  1  'm  Kitty's  big  brother." 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Paul,"  explained  his  auditor, —  "  now 
you  can  run  away,  please." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Ted,  with  evident  delight,  "  are  you 
John's  sister?  We  love  John,  Kitty  and  Carrie, 
Louisa  and  me." 

Little  Ted  knew  of  no  other  relationship  than 
that  of  brother  and  sister,  so  his  remark  had  no 
flattery  in  it,  but  Mrs.  Paul  smiled  involuntarily. 
"I  am  his  mother,"  she  said.  ("A  scheming,  ill- 
bred  person,"  she  added,  in  her  own  mind,  "  teach 
ing  the  children  to  talk  about  Johnny  in  such  a  way, 
to  please  him,  of  course.") 

"  Should  you  like  to  see  the  pups  ?  "  Ted  asked, 
anxious  to  be  agreeable.  "  John  gave  'em  to  me." 


SIDNEY.  295 

"  Oh,  pray  be  quiet !  "  returned  Mrs.  Paul  impa 
tiently.  "  When  is  your  sister  coming  home  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  Kitty  ?  "  The  child  leaned  his 
elbow  confidingly  on  Mrs.  Paul's  knee,  and  looked 
into  her  face.  "  You  have  n't  got  such  pretty  eyes 
as  John." 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Kitty  thinks  his  eyes  are  beautiful,"  declared 
Ted  calmly,  "  an'  she 's  coming  home  'most  any 
time.  Kitty  does  just  as  she  pleases,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Paul's  face  expressed  only  silent  endurance. 

"  Does  John  love  you  the  same  as  I  love  Kitty  ?  " 
Ted  continued,  after  a  pause,  during  which  he  in 
spected  the  lace  upon  Mrs.  Paul's  wrap.  A  mo 
ment  later,  he  exclaimed  gayly,  "  There  she  is ! 
Kitty,  there  's  somebody  here  !  " 

For  once  Katherine  scarcely  noticed  him.  She 
had  guessed  whose  was  the  carriage  at  the  door, 
and  she  had  summoned  all  her  happiness  and  her 
courage  to  her  aid.  She  entered  with  a  smile,  in 
which  there  was  the  faintest  gleam  of  amusement. 

"  You  are  Mrs.  Paul,"  she  said,  with  an  out 
stretched  hand,  which,  as  Mrs.  Paul  did  not  notice 
it,  began  to  wheel  an  easier  chair  forward.  "  How 
good  of  you  to  come  to  see  me !  But  pray  take  a 
more  comfortable  seat." 

Words  fluttered  upon  Mrs.  Paul's  lips,  and  left  her 
silent.  This  dignified  young  woman  was  so  different 
from  her  expectations  that  it  was  necessary  to  take  a 
moment  to  adjust  her  anger  to  her  circumstances. 

Katherine,  meanwhile,  had  drawn  her  little  brother 
to  her  side.  The  old  sofa  upon  which  she  sat,  with 


296  SIDNEY. 

its  uncomfortable  mahogany  arms  and  its  faded 
damask  covering,  had  an  air  of  past  grandeur  about 
it  which  impressed  Mrs.  Paul,  although  she  did  not 
know  it.  All  the  furniture  in  the  room  had  this 
same  suggestiveness,  as  well  as  the  rows  of  leather- 
covered  books  upon  the  shelves. 

"  She  comes  of  People,"  Mrs.  Paul  thought  an 
grily.  "  Her  conduct  is  inexcusable !  " 

"  I  trust  you  have  not  waited  very  long  ?  "  Kath- 
erine  was  saying.  "  And,  Ted,  you  have  not  been 
a  bore,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  "  he  has  been  quite  — 
talkative."  She  was  furious  at  herself  for  ending 
her  sentence  so  mildly. 

"  Had  I  known  that  you  were  coming,  I  should 
have  been  at  home,"  said  Katherine. 

But  Mrs.  Paul  was  not  to  be  drawn  into  common 
place  civilities.  "Miss  Townsend,  will  you  be  so 
kind  as  to  send  this  child  away  ?  What  I  wish  to 
say  perhaps  he  had  better  not  hear." 

"Certainly,"  answered  Katherine  gravely.  But 
when  Ted,  with  his  usual  reluctance,  had  left  them, 
she  said,  with  quiet  dignity,  that  had  in  it  a  curious 
condescension,  "  Mrs.  Paul,  I  know  very  well  that 
your  son's  engagement  to  me  is  a  disappointment  to 
you,  and  I  appreciate  with  all  my  heart  your  com 
ing  here  to  see  me." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  returned  Mrs.  Paul ;  "  it  is 
a  disappointment.  It  is  for  that  reason  that  I  am 
here.  Of  course  my  son  will  do  what  he  wishes 
with  his  future,  but  at  the  same  time  it  is  only 
proper  that  you  should  know  what  that  future  will 


SIDNEY.  297 

be  if —  he  displeases  me."  Katherine's  slight,  wait- 
ins:  smile,  full  of  courteous  and  decent  deference  for 

o 

her  age,  confounded  Mrs.  Paul.  She  was  perhaps 
more  puzzled  than  angry,  and  the  sensation  was  so 
new  that  she  was  at  a  loss  for  words.  Those  which 
she  had  prepared  for  the  upstart  music  teacher  were 
not  to  be  spoken  to  this  young  woman.  "  Yes,"  she 
ended,  "  his  engagement  is  a  very  great  disappoint 
ment.  I  regret  that  I  am  obliged  to  say  this." 

"  I  hope  you  will  believe,"  Katherine  Townsend 
answered,  "  that  I  have  realized  perfectly  that  it 
might  be  so.  I  do  not  mean  because  I  am  poor,  — 
that  is  something  which  neither  you  nor  I  could  con 
sider,  —  but  I  have  the  care  of  my  brother  and  sis 
ters,  and  it  is  a  very  serious  thing  for  a  man  to 
marry  when  he  must  assume  such  responsibilities." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  appreciate  this,"  said 
Mrs.  Paul.  "I  —  " 

"  Yes,"  interposed  Miss  Townsend  quietly,  "  of 
course  I  know  it.  And  yet  I  have  felt  that  this 
very  assumption  would  give  John  the  strength 
which  your  strength  has  really  withheld  from  him. 
He  has  had  no  responsibility  in  life,  I  think,  has 
he?  I  am  sure  you  understand  me.  I  do  not  mean 
to  reproach  your  love  for  him,  which  has  spared 
him,  but  surely  responsibility  will  help  him,  too  ?  " 

"  It  is,  however,  scarcely  necessary  that  he  should 
marry,  in  order  to  find  responsibility,"  Mrs.  Paul 
answered ;  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  glancing  at 
Katherine  from  under  slightly  lifted  brows ;  Miss 
Townsend  sustained  the  look  with  a  calm,  direct 
gaze. 


298  SIDNEY. 

"  True  ;  "  she  admitted. 

"  My  son  has,  of  course,  told  you  that  he  has  no 
means  of  support  other  than  my  —  " 

"Other,"  Katherine  finished,  "than  your  too 
great  kindness."  "  Yes,  of  course,  I  know  that ; 
—  and  I  know,  too,  that  it  must  end  now.  To  con 
tinue  it  would  be  quite  wrong ;  indeed,  I  should  be 
entirely  unwilling  that  John  should  accept  it  when 
we  are  married.  He  must  make  his  own  way  in  the 
world,  and  I  am  sure  I  need  not  say  to  you  how 
confident  I  am,  that  your  son  will  make  his  own 
way."  The  little  gesture  with  which  she  said  this 
was  subtly  flattering;  she  felt  the  color  come  into 
her  face  as  she  spoke.  ("  It  is  true,"  she  assured  her 
self,  "  the  son  of  so  clever  a  woman  must  succeed/') 

"  Yes  —  I  have  no  fears,"  she  continued,  aloud, — 
"  but  I  am  talking  too  much  of  my  own  concerns  !  " 
She  stopped,  smiling  in  half  apology.  "  It  is  such  a 
tiresome  drive  over  from  the  hill ;  will  you  not 
excuse  me  for  one  moment,  and  let  me  bring  you  a 
cup  of  tea  ?  "  She  rose,  ignoring  Mrs.  Paul's  quick 
negative.  "Pray  let  me,"  she  said,  and  left  the 
room. 

In  the  hall  she  drew  a  long  breath  and  set  her 
lips ;  then  she  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  with  an 
intent  haste,  which  silenced  Maria,  she  made  the  tea 
herself  and  arranged  the  small  tray  upon  which  she 
was  to  carry  it  to  her  guest.  It  was  a  bold  stroke, 
she  reflected,  and  the  risk  was  great  in  leaving  Mrs. 
Paul  alone  to  collect  her  thoughts  and  her  objec 
tions  ;  but  it  had  been  the  only  thing  that  had  sug 
gested  itself  to  Katherine.  The  excitement  and 


SIDNEY.  299 

restraint  made  her  eyes  bright,  and  there  was  a  little 
color  in  her  cheeks  ;  and  when,  tranquilly  and  with 
out  haste,  she  came  back  to  the  parlor,  she  was 
almost  handsome.  Mrs.  Paul  could  not  help  seeing 
that,  nor  the  quiet  way  in  which  Katherine  seemed 
to  dismiss  the  subject  of  John  and  his  engagement. 
She  began,  as  she  poured  the  tea,  to  talk  lightly, 
with  cutting  words,  of  this  person  or  of  that.  Had 
Mrs.  Paul  heard  of  that  absurd  affair  in  Ashurst  ? 
What  a  painful  thing  for  the  family  such  a  scandal 
must  be !  And  what  did  she  think  of  that  ridiculous 
love-story  which,  just  now,  every  one  was  reading  ? 

It  was  the  mention  of  love  which  gave  Katherine 
Townsend  the  chance  to  say  things  as  bitter  and  as 
untrue  as  even  her  guest  might  have  done. 

"  A  book,"  Mrs.  Paul  was  constrained  to  say, 
"  which  tries  to  denounce  second  marriage  is  silly,  is 
immoral." 

"  Who  is  it  that  says  a  second  marriage  is  the 
triumph  of  hope  over  experience?"  queried  Kath 
erine  gayly.  "  Truly,  I  don't  like  the  idea  myself, 
but  it 's  better  than  Major  Lee's  theory."  This 
with  a  slight  shrug.  Even  as  she  spoke,  she  was 
excusing  herself  by  saying  she  would  confess  to  Sid 
ney  Lee  what  she  had  said,  never  for  a  moment 
realizing  how  incapable  Sidney  was  of  understand 
ing  the  situation,  or  approving  of  that  temporary 
insincerity  which  is  a  weapon  of  society,  and  rarely 
implies  a  moral  quality. 

At  that  suggestion  of  a  sneer,  Mrs.  Paul  saw  her 
anger  slipping  away  from  her.  She  made  an  effort 
to  recover  herself.  "  At  least,  absurd  as  it  is,  Mor- 


300  SIDNEY. 

timer  Lee's  view  would  prevent  many  unhappy  mar 
riages  ;  and  I  am  sure  you  will  agree  with  me  that 
no  marriages  are  so  unhappy  as  those  which  are 
unequal  in  any  way.  It  is  of  this,  Miss  Townsend, 
that  I  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

Then  Katherine,  who  had  given  away  her  warm 
and  honest  heart  as  loyally  as  any  woman  ever  did, 
lifted  her  eyebrows  a  little  and  seemed  to  consider. 
"  Yes,"  she  said  cynically,  "  of  course  ;  except  that 
the  reasons  for  an  unequal  marrirge  are  always  so 
apparent.  No  one  ought  to  be  deceived.  Regard 
has  very  little  to  do  with  it.  It  is  invariably  per 
sonal  advantage  which  is  considered ;  happiness  is 
not  expected."  She  held  her  breath  after  that ; 
perhaps  she  had  gone  too  far  ?  Yet  if  it  made  Mrs. 
Paul  feel  that,  in  her  own  case,  she  acknowledged  no 
inequality,  much  was  gained,  even  at  the  expense  of 
a  slur  upon  love.  ("  This  is  bowing  in  the  house  of 
Rimmon,"  she  thought,  with  shame  and  elation 
together.) 

But  Mrs.  Paul  smiled.  At  least  this  young 
woman  was  no  fool,  —  there  was  to  be  no  love-talk, 
no  tears  ;  and  yet,  as  she  again  tried  to  turn  to  that 
subject  which  she  was  here  to  discuss,  she  found 
such  a  discussion  as  difficult,  although  not  as  disa 
greeable,  as  if  she  had  been  answered  by  tears  and 
protestations.  She  could  not  make  her  threat  about 
money  to  this  young  person  who  treated  money  with 
such  high-handed  indifference.  Indeed,  so  skillfully 
did  Katherine  parry  the  slightest  hint  of  the  disap 
probation  Mrs.  Paul  wished  to  express  that  the  older 
woman  became  aware  that,  although  she  was  not 


SIDNEY.  301 

allowed  to  say  what  was  in  her  mind,  Miss  Townsend 
knew  quite  well  all  she  desired  to  say. 

There  are  few  who  are  not  more  or  less  impressed 
by  cleverness ;  but  Mrs.  Paul  respected  it,  even 
when  it  was  to  her  cost.  As  for  Katherine,  she  was 
exhilarated  by  her  opportunity ;  to  anticipate  Mrs. 
Paul's  sneers  was  like  a  game.  That  she  was  not 
sincere  she  was  aware,  but  she  silenced  her  con 
science  by  a  promise  to  repent  as  soon  as  her  wrong 
doing  was  ended.  It  could  not,  however,  end  with 
its  recognition ;  she  was  not  yet  victorious,  although 
she  saw  victory  ahead.  So,  for  the  present,  she 
must  not  lose  the  chance  of  assuring  Mrs.  Paul, 
that,  for  her  part,  she  believed  that  vanity  was  the 
beginning  of  most  of  the  virtues,  and  expediency  of 
the  rest,  —  or  any  such  flippant  untruth  as  Mrs. 
Paul's  conversation  might  suggest ;  and  Mrs.  Paul's 
conversation  never  lacked  suggestion. 

At  last,  the  older  woman's  final  reserve  broke 
down.  "  My  dear,"  she  cried,  "  you  are  delightful. 
The  Providence  that  takes  care  of  children  and  fools 
has  guided  Johnny.  As  for  your  brother  and  sis 
ters,  no  doubt  we  can  find  a  proper  boarding- 
school  "  —  She  ignored  Miss  Townsend's  laughing 
negative.  Mrs.  Paul  was  never  half-way  in  any 
thing  ;  she  was  as  charmed  as  she  had  been  enraged. 

"But  I  am  afraid,"  Katherine  said,  —  "I  am 
afraid  that  I  must  beg  you  to  excuse  me.  I  have  a 
lesson  to  give  in  just  twenty  minutes,  and  I  must  go. 
I  am  so  sorry  !  "  She  rose  as  she  spoke,  extending 
her  hand  in  very  courteous  and  calm  dismissal. 
"  It  has  been  a  pleasure  to  see  you,"  she  said,  with 
no  more  enthusiasm  than  ^oliiteriess  demanded. 


3D2  SIDNEY. 

Mrs.  Paul  was  beaming.  She  glanced  at  Kather- 
ine  keenly  for  a  moment,  as  she  took  her  arm. 
"  Where  have  you  learned  to  walk  ?  "  she  demanded. 
"  One  does  not  expect  deportment  from  Little  Mer 
cer.  But  what  am  I  thinking  of?  Your  mother 
was  a  Drayton,  of  course  !  I  remember  now :  young 
Steele  told  me  so,  and  Sidney,  but  I  had  forgotten 
it.  So  foolish  in  Johnny  not  to  remind  me  !  How 
could  I  suppose  that  anybody  he  would  care  for 
could  have  antecedents  ?  " 

"  But  poor  John,"  said  Katherine  lightly,  —  "  he 
was  more  concerned  with  living  than  with  dead  rel 
atives.  Four  Townsends  are  bad  enough,  without 
a  dozen  Draytons  too." 

"  Oh,"  Mrs.  Paul  assured  her,  "  I  have  no  doubt 
that  they  are  very  well,  —  the  children ;  I  assure 
you  I  sha'n't  mind  them  much."  They  had  reached 
the  carriage,  and  a  thought  struck  her.  "You 
are  going  out  to  give  a  lesson  ?  (Nonsense,  all  non 
sense  ;  we  '11  stop  that  at  once !)  Then  just  get 
right  in  with  me,  and  I  '11  take  you  wherever  you 
want  to  go.  It  has  begun  to  rain,  you  see." 

"  That  will  be  delightful !  "  Katherine  assented. 
She  had  not  removed  her  bonnet  when  she  entered 
the  parlor,  so  without  any  delay  she  took  the  place 
by  Mrs.  Paul's  side.  The  enjoyment  of  leaning 
back  among  the  carriage  cushions,  and  directing  the 
coachman  to  drive  to  one  of  those  cheap  suburban 
villas,  which  irritate  the  eyes  and  look  as  though 
they  had  been  made  with  a  jig-saw,  was  something 
Katherine  never  forgot. 

"  You  are  to  come  to  see  me  to-morrow  morning," 


SIDNEY.  808 

commanded  Mrs.  Paul,  more  pleasantly  excited  and 
interested  than  she  had  been  for  many  a  day.  "  I 
shall  send  for  Johnny,  and  we  will  wind  up  this 
nonsense  of  the  paper." 

Katharine  laughed  and  shook  her  head.  "  I  am 
so  sorry,  but  I  am  occupied  to-morrow  morning.  I 
must  not  disappoint  a  pupil  for  my  own  pleasure, 
you  know."  Under  all  her  calm,  Katherine  was 
flushed  with  victory.  She  had  triumphed,  yet  it  was 
at  the  cost  of  her  self-respect.  She  realized  this 
when  she  stood  at  the  carriage  door  saying  good-by. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  a  clever  woman,  and  I  con 
gratulate  you.  (No  one  can  say  I  have  not  always 
appreciated  cleverness.)  You  don't  make  any  sen 
timental  pretenses,  —  I  like  that.  As  for  Johnny, 
I  dare  say  you  will  make  the  best  of  him ;  he  's 
stupid,  —  but  that 's  all." 

Katherine  grew  hot  with  shame  ;  she  could  scarcely 
control  her  voice  to  thank  Mrs.  Paul  for  having  car 
ried  her  to  her  pupil's  door.  She  had  succeeded  too 
well. 

Mrs.  Paul,  when  she  drove  away,  was  in  that  state 
of  radiant  satisfaction  which  demands  a  spectator. 
So  it  was  something  to  come  across  Miss  Sally  trudg 
ing  home  in  the  rain,  and  to  stop  and  insist  that  she 
should  get  into  the  carriage. 

"  Why  in  the  world,"  she  cried,  "  did  n't  you  tell 
me  about  Katherine  Townsend  ?  "  She  would  not 
drive  home  immediately,  "  for  I  want  to  talk  to 
you,"  she  said.  And  so  Miss  Sally,  sitting  op 
posite,  shivering  a  little  in  her  damp  skirts,  listened 
with  genuine  pleasure  to  Mrs.  Paul's  praises  of 


304  SIDNEY. 

Katherine.  "  It  is  really  a  pleasure  to  talk  to  such 
a  young  woman  ;  and  a  great  relief,  after  what  I 
have  endured  these  last  few  years.  Why  did  no 
body  tell  me  what  she  was  like  ?  Of  course  I  could 
not  know ;  the  fact  that  Johnny  was  in  love  with 
her  made  me  think  she  could  not  amount  to  much. 
Johnny  has  no  sense  about  women.  I  was  always 
afraid  he  might  think  he  was  in  love  with  you.  But, 
thank  the  Lord,  he  never  reached  that  state !  So  it 
was  natural  that  I  should  object  to  her,  not  having 
seen  her,  and  neither  you  nor  Sidney  having  the 
sense  to  tell  me  what  kind  of  a  woman  she  was." 

"  I  should  think,"  ventured  Miss  Sally,  shivering 
a  good  deal,  "  that  you  would  have  known  she  must 
be  a  sweet,  good  girl,  just  because  John  cared  for 
her." 

"Sweet?  good?"  repeated  Mrs.  Paul  contemp 
tuously.  "  That 's  like  you,  Sally.  And  it 's  like 
you  to  say  I  must  have  known,  because —  Now 
that  you  are  engaged  yourself,  you  really  are  too 
silly." 

Miss  Sally  swallowed  once  or  twice,  and  then 
looked  out  of  the  window.  "I  am  not  engaged, 
Mrs.  Paul." 

Mrs.  Paul's  "  What  ?  "  was  explosive.  "  When 
did  you  break  it  off?  What  an  idiot  you  were, 
Sally,  to  let  him  go  !  You  will  never  get  the  chance 
again.  Why  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

"I  —  I  did  n't  break  it  off,"  said  the  other  simply ; 
"he  told  me  he  had  made  a  mistake.  So  there 
was  n't  anything  to  break  off,  you  see." 


XXII. 

IF  Mrs.  Paul  had  not  been  so  absorbed  in  Kather- 
ine,  she  would  have  felt  in  Miss  Sally's  broken  en 
gagement  the  collapse  of  a  person  who  has  lost  a 
grievance.  As  it  was,  she  thought  of  it  only  to 
repeat  the  news,  two  or  three  days  later,  to  Robert's 
astounded  and  dismayed  friend,  and  to  rail  at  Sally 
for  a  fool  to  have  let  young  Steele  slip  through  her 
fingers.  When  Alan  Crossan  really  grasped  the 
fact  that  Robert  had  thrown  Miss  Sally  over,  —  it 
was  thus  Mrs.  Paul  expressed  it,  —  he  stood  in 
shocked  silence  for  a  moment ;  it  was  too  tremen 
dous  for  comment.  Then  came  the  instant  rebound  : 
it  was  impossible  ;  it  simply  could  not  be ;  by  be 
lieving  such  a  slander  he  again  had  wronged  his 
friend.  Why,  it  was  only  a  week  ago  that  Robert 
had  come  to  look  for  Miss  Sally  in  the  garden  — 
Then,  like  a  blow,  came  the  remembrance  of  the 
evident  return  to  morphine  in  the  afternoon  of  that 
day,  and  since  then  Robert  had  been  away  from 
home. 

The  doctor  scarcely  heard  Mrs.  Paul's  triumphant 
talk  of  Katherine ;  he  only  waited  for  a  pause  to 
say  good-by,  and  then  he  went  at  once,  not  knowing 
why,  to  the  major's.  There,  at  first,  it  seemed  as 
though  this  terrible  news  was  confirmed.  Sidney 
met  him,  looking  puzzled  and  half  annoyed. 


306  SIDNEY. 

"  Aunt  Sally  is  ill,  I  think.  She  has  a  cold.  I 
was  going  to  send  for  you,  Alan,  though  you  won't 
mind  if  she  keeps  on  taking  her  little  pills  too,  will 
you?" 

"  Is  —  is  anything  else  wrong,  Sidney  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Does  Mr.  Steele  know  she  is  ill  ?  Has  he  been 
here  to-day  ?  " 

Sidney  shook  her  head.  "  There  is  nothing  wrong ; 
what  could  be  wrong  ?  Aunt  Sally  is  ill,  and  I  can't 
tell  what  she  wants  done  downstairs.  She  is  sleepy 
all  the  time."  She  frowned  ;  she  was  troubled,  and 
she  was  impatient  of  all  trouble. 

It  was  no  time  to  ask  questions;  Alan  had  to 
forget  Eobert.  A  physician's  private  anxieties  are 
out  of  place  by  the  bedside  of  a  patient,  and  Miss 
Sally  was  really  sick.  That  walk  in  the  rain,  and 
then  the  long,  shivering  ride  with  Mrs.  Paul,  had 
come  upon  a  little  body  which  the  new  emotions  of 
the  last  few  months,  and  especially  of  the  last  week, 
had  greatly  taxed.  Miss  Sally  was  exhausted.  Her 
pathetic  desire  to  appear  stronger  and  wiser  than 
she  was  had  been  a  continual  strain  ;  that  desire  was 
at  an  end  now,  and  she  felt  instead  the  old  content, 
the  old  enjoyment  of  a  narrow  life.  Yet  such  con 
tent  was  a  mysterious  pain  to  Miss  Sally. 

In  the  night  of  that  day  upon  which  Mr.  Steele 
told  her  that  he  did  not  love  her,  she  had  cried  as 
though  her  heart  would  break.  She  knew,  vaguely, 
that  her  grief  was  not  because  she  had  lost  her  lover, 
yet  she  knew  no  more  than  that.  She  was  incapable 
of  finding  a  reason  for  her  tears,  or  of  understand 
ing  that  there  is  a  bitter  pain,  which  recognizes  its 
real  grievance  in  the  lack  of  srief. 


SIDNEY.  307 

There,  in  the  dark,  kneeling  at  the  side  of  her 
high  bed,  she  cried  until,  from  weariness,  she  fell 
asleep ;  sinking  down  upon  the  floor,  her  head  rest 
ing  against  the  carved  bedpost.  In  the  morning 
she  awoke,  stiff  and  chilled,  and  in  a  dazed  way 
groped  about  in  her  mind  to  find  her  sorrow.  She 
caught  a  glimpse  in  the  mirror  of  her  small  anxious 
face,  stained  with  last  night's  tears,  and  pressed  into 
wrinkles  and  creases  where  it  had  rested  on  the 
gathers  of  the  valance.  The  tears  were  still  very 
near  the  surface.  She  drew  a  little  sobbing  breath 
of  pity  for  herself.  But  perhaps  at  that  moment 
she  dimly  understood  that  it  was  relief  which  had 
come  to  her,  not  sorrow ;  and  that  the  dear  and 
commonplace  little  life  was  hers  again.  There 
would  be  no  more  effort,  no  new  emotions.  She 
cried  as  she  smoothed  her  hair  and  bathed  her  tired 
eyes,  because,  without  understanding  it,  she  knew 
vaguely,  that  her  tears  would  soon  be  dried.  It  was 
a  little  soul's  appreciation  of  how  impossible  for  it 
is  greatness.  But  no  one  could  have  guessed  this 
cause  of  grief,  least  of  all  Robert  Steele,  drowning 
his  misery  in  the  old  familiar  dreams  of  opium.  He 
had  shut  himself  up  in  a  hotel  in  the  city,  and  given 
all  his  thoughts  to  the  contemplation  of  his  own  base 
ness  ;  and  when  that  grew  too  terrible  to  be  borne, 
taking  up  that  strange  little  instrument  of  heaven 
and  hell,  and  by  a  prick  in  his  arm  forgetting. 
There  was  a  fitness  in  such  sinning,  he  said  to  him 
self,  deliberately  yielding  to  temptation.  He  had 
flung  Miss  Sally's  saving  love  away,  so  he  had  best 
fall  back  into  the  misery  from  which  she  had  res- 


308  SIDNEY. 

cued  him.  Perhaps  no  one,  not  even  Alan,  could 
have  appreciated  the  sincerity  of  a  man  allowing 
himself  to  sin,  as  a  punishment  to  himself. 

But  the  doctor,  on  that  day,  a  week  later,  when 
he  found  Miss  Sally  ill,  had  no  knowledge  of  Rob 
ert  or  his  condition,  and  he  could  not  spare  a 
thought  for  him  in  concern  for  her.  Alan  looked 
worried  when  he  rejoined  Sidney  in  the  library. 

She  was  reading,  and  it  was  evidently  not  easy 
for  her  to  leave  her  book. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  Miss  Sally  is  ill ;  but  don't  be 
alarmed."  Sidney  looked  surprised  ;  evidently,  noth 
ing  was  further  from  her  thoughts  than  the  annoy 
ance  of  alarm.  "  So  far  as  I  can  see,  she  has  n't 
anything  on  her  mind.  (Mrs.  Paul  was  wrong ;  I 
knew  she  was.)  But  I  don't  like  that  room  for 
her :  there  is  no  sunshine,  and  too  much  draught. 
The  room  across  the  hall  would  be  better.  I  think 
she  ought  to  be  moved  at  once." 

"  But,"  said  Sidney,  in  consternation,  and  putting 
her  book  down,  "  that  is  —  is  "  — 

"  Your  room  ?  "  Alan  finished.  "  Why,  Sidney !  " 
The  selfishness  which  could  admit  of  such  a  thought 
startled  him  for  a  moment. 

Sidney  did  not  speak.  To  put  some  one  else 
before  herself  required  an  adjustment  of  ideas ;  but 
when  that  was  done,  the  resulting  consciousness  was 
not  altogether  unpleasant. 

"  Miss  Sally  ought  not  to  be  alone,"  Alan  began, 
—  he  must  not  pause  to  give  a  lesson  in  ethics,  with 
his  patient's  pulse  over  a  hundred,  —  "  some  one 
ought  to  be  with  her." 


SIDNEY.  309 

"  Oh  I  "  Sidney  answered  blankly,  so  plainly  dis 
tressed  at  her  duty,  that  Alan  forgot  his. 

"  Sidney,  don't  you  care  for  Miss  Sally  ?  "  he  pro 
tested. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  care,"  she  said ;  but  there  was 
no  offended  affection  in  her  face,  nor  did  she  say 
"  love."  In  such  matters  the  major  had  taught  her 
to  call  things  by  their  right  names. 

"  Then,"  cried  Alan,  "  why  don't  you  want  to  be 
with  her,  and  to  give  up  your  room  to  her  ?  " 

"  Because,"  she  explained,  "  it  is  n't  pleasant, 
Alan." 

The  doctor  looked  at  her.  "  But  is  this  sort  of 
thing  pleasant,  —  this  selfishly  refusing  to  see  what 
is  painful  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  unpleasant,"  she  replied.  But  she  was 
troubled;  Alan  seemed  to  disapprove  of  her,  she 
thought. 

"  Oh,  Sidney,"  he  said,  "  it  distresses  me  to  have 
you  unwomanly  and  selfish.  I  cannot  bear  to  see 
you  selfish."  (This  was  the  first  time  that  they  had 
been  alone  since  that  morning  in  the  garden.) 

She  smiled.  "  But  look ;  why  do  you  want  me 
to  be  different?  Because  it  is  unpleasant  to  see 
what  you  call  selfishness  ?  " 

"  And  it  is  not  right,"  added  the  doctor. 

"  What  is  '  right '  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Oh,  Alan,  you 
and  I  act  from  the  same  motive,  —  comfort ;  only 
you  are  more  subtle  about  it  than  I.  You  call 
4  comfort '  '  right ; '  it 's  expedient  to  be  good,  you 
know."  She  laughed,  and  looked  at  him  so  frankly, 
with  such  entire  absence  of  that  beautiful  conscious- 


310  SIDNEY. 

ness  which  had  filled  him  with  hope,  that  Alan's 
heart  sank. 

"  Sidney,"  he  said  passionately,  "  I  told  you  that 
you  needed  love  to  make  you  really  live.  It  is  re 
generation,  as  well  as  beauty !  Do  you  remember 
what  I  told  you  ?  Oh,  you  could  not  be  selfish  if  — 
you  had  love  in  your  heart !  " 

He  stood  close  beside  her ;  it  seemed  as  though  a 
wave  of  light  quivered  across  his  face  as  his  eyes 
sought  hers.  Miss  Sally,  right  and  wrong,  the  sub 
tleties  of  altruism  and  selfishness,  were  forgotten ; 
the  woman  he  loved  was  looking  into  his  face. 

"  Oh,  begin  to  live,  Sidney,  —  begin  to  live, 
now!" 

It  was  an  extraordinary  moment,  which  seemed  to 
Alan  an  eternity,  as,  with  her  hand  crushed  in  his, 
he  demanded  life  from  the  frightened  silence  of  her 
face.  The  scene  stamped  itself  upon  his  brain  :  the 
sunshine  streaming  in  through  the  long,  open  win 
dows  ;  the  murmurs  of  the  busy  street ;  the  Virginia 
creeper  swaying  from  the  eaves  of  the  west  wing  ; 
the  sudden  sparkle  of  a  crystal  ball  upon  the  writ 
ing-table  ;  and  through  all  a  wandering  breath  of 
mignonette,  and  the  ripple  of  a  song  from  little 
Susan,  singing  in  the  kitchen. 

Alan's  voice  sounded  strangely  in  his  ears.  His 
individuality  was  swept  into  that  Power  of  which 
each  individual  is  but  the  fleeting  expression.  It 
was  Life  which  called  to  Sidney  ;  it  was  the  Past,  it 
was  Humanity,  it  was  all  Nature,  —  nay,  it  was  her 
own  soul  which  entreated  her  from  Alan's  lips. 

"  Love  is  more  than  death ;  it  is  life  itself.  I 
love  you." 


SIDNEY.  311 

She  did  not  take  her  hand  from  his,  nor  turn  her 
eyes  away  ;  she  looked  at  him  in  absolute  silence, 
dazed  and  uncomprehending.  Alan  had  one  mo 
ment  of  blankness,  which  was  so  intense  that  it 
seemed  a  physical  shock ;  it  was  as  though  he  had 
uttered  that  "  Come  forth ! "  into  the  ears  of  the 
dead. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  "  His  tone  compelled  an  an 
swer. 

Sidney,  looking  at  him  as  though  she  could  not 
take  her  eyes  away  from  his,  slowly  shook  her  head. 
The  spell  of  the  moment  was  lifted  ;  the  sense  of 
power  was  gone.  The  young  man  was  no  longer 
the  creator,  summoning  life,  but  the  lover,  pleading, 
fearing,  scarcely  daring  to  hope. 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  in  earnest  ?  Think  !  Don't 
you, —  a  little?" 

"  No." 

Her  voice  was  as  the  voice  of  one  who  dreams ; 
but  she  knew,  keenly  and  intensely,  what  she  was 
doing  and  saying.  It  was  this  knowledge  which 
brought  the  absorbed  vacancy  into  her  eyes.  This, 
then,  was  love  ?  —  this  look  in  Alan's  face ;  this 
strange  earnestness,  which  was,  she  thought  vaguely, 
like  anger ;  this  breathless  pain  in  his  voice.  How 
terrible  was  love  !  "  Alan,  Alan,"  she  said,  "  please 
do  not  be  so  unhappy,  please  do  not  love  me." 

"  Not  love  you  ?  Why,  I  should  not  be  alive  if  I 
did  not  love  you,  Sidney.  It  seems  as  if  it  were  my 
very  soul,  this  love.  Don't  you  care  for  me  at  all  ?  " 

But  already  he  despaired ;  it  did  not  need  that 
she  should  answer  him,  trembling,  "  Indeed,  I  do 


312  SIDNEY. 

not ;  truly  I  do  not,"  to  assure  him  that  his  entrea 
ties  fell  upon  ears  which  could  not  understand  them. 
He  felt,  watching  the  dismay  growing  in  her  calm 
face,  as  though  he  had  been  telling  his  love  to  a 
marble  woman.  For  a  moment  he  did  not  feel  the 
despair  of  a  rejected  lover.  It  seemed  to  him,  look 
ing  at  her  passionless  pity,  as  though  the  girl  were 
incapable  of  emotion  ;  there  was  something  unhu- 
man  about  it,  which  gave  him,  at  the  heart  of  his 
love,  a  curious  sense  of  repulsion. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Sidney,"  he  heard  himself 
say  ;  and  then  he  burst  out  once  more :  "  Sidney, 
you  don't  know  what  I  am  trying  to  tell  you,  you 
don't  know  what  love  means  !  But  you  must  learn  ; 
let  me  teach  you  ?  "  He  took  her  hand  again,  with 
a  gentleness  which  may  come  when  love  is  great 
enough  to  forget  itself. 

Sidney  looked  away,  and  sighed.  "  Alan,  don't 
say  anything  more."  Her  voice  was  so  ultimate 
that  the  young  man  was  silenced  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  said  simply,  — 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  learn  to  love  me,  Sid 
ney?" 

"  Truly  I  don't,"  she  answered.  There  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.  Alan  turned  sharply  away. 

He  went  over  to  the  window,  and  stood  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  staring  into  the  garden. 

The  crystal  ball  in  its  ebony  circle  still  flashed  in 
the  sunshine  ;  the  murmur  of  the  bees  and  the  scent 
of  flowers  came  in  through  the  windows.  Life  and 
the  day  went  on ;  little  Susan  was  still  singing  in 
the  kitchen,  and,  like  a  green  and  flowing  arras,  the 


SIDNEY.  313 

woodbine  wavered  in  the  wind.  All  was  the  same, 
and  yet,  to  this  young  man  and  woman,  how  infi 
nitely  and  eternally  different ! 

"  Alan?  "  Sidney  said  at  last. 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  answered  quietly,  but  he  did  not  look 
at  her. 

"I  —  I  think  I  must  go  to  aunt  Sally,"  —  she  be 
gan,  her  voice  unsteady. 

He  turned  quickly.  "  Wait  one  moment,"  he 
said.  "  I  want  to  write  a  prescription  for  her." 

He  sat  down,  and  began  to  make  queer  cabalistic 
marks  upon  his  prescription  paper.  He  did  not  lift 
his  eyes  to  hers ;  the  repression  of  the  moment  made 
his  face  stern.  "Will  you  have  this  filled,  please?" 
he  said. 

Sidney  did  not  answer.  A  soul  had  revealed  it 
self  to  her  in  this  last  half  hour  ;  all  her  twenty-five 
years  had  brought  her  no  such  wisdom  as  had  come 
in  these  quick  moments.  What  had  been  a  word 
to  her,  flashed  before  her  eyes,  a  living  creature. 
Love  had  looked  at  her,  had  implored  her.  Sidney 
had  that  feeling  of  escape  which  comes  to  one  who 
has  seen  another  overwhelmed  by  a  danger  which  he 
fears.  Alan  left  her  with  a  very  brief  farewell ; 
but  she  sat  there  by  the  window  with  the  prescrip 
tion  paper  in  her  hand,  until  long  after  the  time  her 
aunt  should  have  taken  her  medicine,  —  sat  there, 
in  fact,  until  Katherine  Townsend,  entering,  with 
an  anxious  look  upon  her  face,  asked  her  how  Miss 
Sally  was. 

Katherine  had  seen  Alan,  and  when  she  heard 
that  Miss  Sally  was  ill  she  said  she  would  go  to  her 


314  SIDNEY. 

at  once.  "  For  I  am  afraid,"  she  added  good-na 
turedly,  "  that  Miss  Sidney  Lee  is  too  dreamy  to  be 
of  much  use  in  a  sick-room  ?  " 

Alan  was  apparently  too  absorbed  to  express  an 
opinion.  "  Doctors  think  of  nothing  but  their  pa 
tients,"  Katheririe  complained  to  herself.  She  would 
have  been  glad  to  talk  of  Sidney,  who  interested 
her  extremely,  but  Alan  did  not  encourage  her  to 
pursue  the  subject,  and  so  she  turned  to  an  interest 
and  anxiety  of  her  own. 

"  Dr.  Crossan,  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Mrs. 
Paul  told  me  that  —  that  cousin  Robert  had  broken 
his  engagement,  and  now  you  say  Miss  Sally  is  ill  ; 
and  it  almost  seems —  But  I  would  not  believe 
Mrs.  Paul!" 

Alan  came  back  with  a  start;  he  had  forgotten 
Robert  and  Miss  Sally  too.  "  Mrs.  Paul  told  me 
the  same  thing,  but  it  cannot  be  true.  Miss  Sally's 
illness  has  nothing  to  do  with  any  nervous  condition. 
She  has  a  cold,  and  she  is  feverish ;  pneumonia 
is  what  I  fear.  Miss  Townsend,  I  would  not  be 
lieve  such  a  thing  of  Robert,  if  he  told  me  so  him 
self!" 

Katherine's  face  brightened.  "  I  thank  you  for 
saying  that.  I  don't  think  I  really  believed  it,  only 
Mrs.  Paul  said  —  But  never  mind  that.  Then  it 
is  not  broken  off,  you  think  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  Alan  answered.  "  It  may  be  at 
an  end  ;  Miss  Sally  may  have  broken  it,  you  know. 
I  have  n't  seen  Robert  for  a  week.  But  Mrs.  Paul 
insinuated — if  you  will  pardon  the  word  —  that 
Steele  had  asked  to  be  released,  and  of  course  that 


SIDNEY.  315 

is  impossible.  I  wonder  why  Mrs.  Paul  always  puts 
the  worst  construction  upon  everything  ?  " 

Then,  with  a  comment  upon  the  weather,  he  left 
her.  It  is  odd  what  attention  one  can  pay  to  the 
commonplace,  with  one's  soul  in  a  tumult  of  pain. 
He  thought  of  Robert  again,  only  to  declare  to  him 
self,  briefly,  that  this  thing  Mrs.  Paul  had  said  was 
obviously  false  ;  and  then  he  forgot  him  until  later 
in  the  afternoon  when  he  reached  home. 

Robert  Steele  was  waiting  for  him  in  their  library. 
He  was  resting  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  his  face 
was  hidden  in  his  hands.  "Alan,"  he  said,  "how 
is  Miss  Sally?  I  called  there,  and  they  told  me 
she  was  ill." 

His  manner  confessed  him.  The  doctor  was  flung 
out  of  his  trust  and  confidence.  "  She  is  ill,"  he 
said  sternly.  "  She  is  very  much  prostrated,  also.  I 
suppose  you  know  why  that  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  answered  the  wretched  man  be 
fore  him. 

Alan  stared  at  him  with  dismay.  "  Steele,  tell  me 
what  this  means.  Is  your  engagement  broken  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  But  it  is  not  true  that  you  did  it  ?  That  is 
what  is  said,  —  but  of  course  it 's  a  lie  !  " 

"  It  is  true,"  returned  Robert,  running  his  finger 
along  the  carving  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  not 
lifting  his  head. 

"  Good  heavens,  Steele,  what  are  you  saying  ?  I 
don't  believe  it !  You  are  an  honorable  man.  It  is 
some  piece  of  insane  folly  that  you  have  fastened 
upon  yourself  which  has  made  her  dismiss  you. 


316  SIDNEY. 

But  then,  why  are  you  so  miserable  ?  Did  you  "  — 
he  lowered  his  voice  — "  did  you  love  her,  after 
all?" 

"  No,"  answered  the  other,  "  I  never  loved  her, 
and  I  told  her  so.  I  told  her  that  it  had  been  a 
mistake  from  the  beginning." 

Alan  did  not  speak. 

Robert  raised  his  head.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  go 
away?" 

Alan  looked  at  him  speechlessly.  Robert  did  not 
love  Miss  Sally?  He  realized  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake  ?  The  doctor  could  easily  believe  all  that, 
but  —  tell  her!  Was  it  not  a  sufficient  injury  to 
fail  in  love  without  adding  the  insult  of  telling  her 
so  ?  His  face  grew  darkly  red.  "  I  am  done  with 
him,"  he  thought. 

44  Do  you  want  me  to  go  away  ?  "  Robert  repeated, 
in  a  dull,  hopeless  voice. 

"  I  do,"  said  the  doctor. 

Without  a  word,  Robert  Steele  rose  and  left  the 
room. 


XXIII. 

"On,  pray,  Sidney,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  "don't  look 
so  forlorn  ;  I  have  no  patience  with  people  who  look 
forlorn.  Sally  will  do  well  enough.  I  don't  know 
why  in  the  world  she  should  keep  Katherine  with 
her  all  the  time.  It 's  just  like  Sally  to  monopolize 
any  one.  You  do  very  well,  my  dear,  but  you  are 
not  Katherine." 

Mrs.  Paul  was  in  Scarlett's  hands,  sitting  before 
her  mirror,  holding  her  head  very  straight,  and 
looking  sidewise  at  Sidney. 

•'  Alan  said  aunt  Sally  was  not  so  well  this  morn 
ing,"  Sidney  answered,  with  persistent  anxiety  in 
her  face. 

"  Well,  never  mind  !  Scarlett,  have  you  no  sense  ? 
That  puff  is  crooked.  She  '11  be  all  right  in  a  day 
or  two  ;  don't  be  foolish,  Sidney.  Now,  can't  you 
persuade  Katherine  to  come  over?  I  don't  want 
you,  if  she  can  come.  Besides,  there  is  nothing  of 
any  consequence  the  matter  with  Sally ;  so  cheer  up 
at  once  ;  do  you  hear  me  ?  "  It  was  unpleasant  to 
have  Sidney  low-spirited,  and  so  she  took  the  trou 
ble  to  administer  comfort :  "  I  tell  you  she  will  be 
well  in  a  day  or  two,  child.  So  go  and  see  if  you 
can't  induce  Katherine  to  come  in  for  a  while." 

Sidney's  life  was  too  full  of  real  things,  just  now, 
for  her  to  be  hurt,  or  indeed  aware  that  Mrs.  Paul 


318  SIDNEY. 

had  very  decidedly  and  completely  dropped  her. 
The  fact  was,  the  older  woman  found  an  absorbing 
interest  in  Katherine  Townsend,  who  told  her  bitter 
truths  with  a  charming  air,  and  refused  to  do  as  she 
was  bid  with  a  high-handed  indifference  as  perfect 
as  her  own.  Katherine  had  captured  all  her  affec 
tion  and  her  pride.  Sidney  was  stupid,  Mrs.  Paul 
declared  ;  and  instead  of  making  herself  miserable 
over  the  failure  of  her  plan  to  marry  the  girl  to  Mr. 
Steele,  or  furthering  the  project  of  bringing  dismay 
to  Major  Lee  by  encouraging  Alan's  suit,  she  gave 
herself  up  to  the  thoughts  of  John's  marriage.  Her 
one  desire  was  to  put  an  end  to  the  folly  of  "  The 
Independent  Press,"  and  make  her  son  bring  his 
wife  home. 

"  He  never  can  support  you,  my  dear,"  she  told 
Katherine  ;  "  and  though  I  love  you,  I  won't  be  dic 
tated  to  by  Johnny.  He  has  got  to  come  to  his 
senses,  if  he  wants  me  to  continue  his  income." 

Outwardly,  Mrs.  Paul  had  made  a  truce  with  her 
son,  and,  by  many  contemptuous  allusions  to  himself 
and  his  plans,  she  tried  to  restore  her  old  suprem 
acy  ;  but  things  were  not  the  same.  During  his 
dutiful  weekly  visits  he  listened  silently,  as  of  old, 
to  her  sneers,  but  there  was  a  new  look  in  his  face, 
which  made  her  always  conscious  of  that  dreadful 
scone  between  them.  Even  her  praise  of  Katherine 
did  not  move  him  to  any  friendliness,  and  he 
scarcely  replied  to  the  entreaty,  disguised  as  a  com 
mand,  that  he  should  live  at  home  after  his  mar 
riage.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Paul  could  think  of  nothing 
but  this  home-coming,  and  took  every  opportunity 


SIDNEY.  319 

to  urge  it  upon  Katharine  as  well  as  John.  So  it 
was  really  very  annoying  to  have  Sally  Lee  take  it 
into  her  head  to  fall  ill  at  such  a  time,  and  claim 
Kate  so  constantly. 

"  I  am  tired  to  death  of  hearing  about  Sally,"  she 
announced,  as  Katherine,  on  Sunday  afternoon,  was 
about  to  leave  her,  to  go  over  to  the  other  house. 
44 1  wish  she  would  get  well,  or  —  or  do  without 
you  !  " 

John  looked  at  his  mother  with  that  interested 
and  impersonal  curiosity  which  struck  upon  her 
heart  afresh  each  time  she  saw  him,  but  Katherine 
was  ready  with  a  reply. 

44 How  frank  you  are,  dear  Mrs.  Paul!  As  for 
me,  I  am  afraid  I  try  to  hide  my  selfishness  ;  I  am 
such  a  coward  that  I  assume  a  virtue.  But  I  shall 
have  you  for  an  example  now." 

44  My  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Paul,  with  a  wicked 
smile,  44  do  not  be  discouraged  :  you  are  very  much 
like  me ;  we  may  even  be  mistaken  for  each  other." 

4'  Do  you  think,"  cried  Katherine,  with  a  laugh, 
44  that  the  recording  angel  can  make  any  such  mis 
take?  You  should  warn  him,  really." 

44  Lord,  Kate !  "  said  John,  as  they  left  the  house, 
and  Katharine's  impertinence  sobered  into  anxiety, 
and  a  little  self-contempt  as  well,  44  how  you  do  talk 
to  her !  " 

44  The  worst  of  it  is,"  she  confessed,  '4that  what 
she  said  is  true.  I  am  like  her.  Oh,  dear  !  why 
am  I  not  good,  like  Miss  Sally,  or  true,  like  Sid 
ney  ?  John,  Sidney  is  so  strange.  She  spoke  to 
me  yesterday  of  love  and  death  ;  I  suppose  anxiety 


320  SIDNEY. 

about  her  aunt  put  it  into  her  mind.  She  said  there 
would  be  no  sorrow  in  the  world,  if  there  were  no 
love.  Just  think  —  no  love  !  It  is  dreadful  that  she 
should  be  so  morbid.  Why  can't  she  take  life  as 
we  do,  and  let  the  future  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  looking  at  her  with  simple 
and  honest  tenderness,  "  life  is  a  first-rate  thing,  and 
the  major  —  I'm  fond  of  him,  you  know,  Kate,  but 
really  he  is  an  old  fool?  And  for  him  to  have 
taught  Sidney  all  that  trash  —  it 's  too  bad !  " 

"  Besides,"  Katherine  went  on,  "  there  is  heaven. 
I  never  think  of  death  unless  I  think  of  heaven  ?  " 

John  nodded.  "  Of  course,"  he  said,  in  his  com 
fortable,  matter-of-fact  way  ;  "  but  I  never  do  think 
of  death,  anyhow,  —  unless  I  have  a  fit  of  indiges 
tion,  —  though  I  'm  sure  I  hope  I  'm  prepared  for 
it ;  but  it  is  morbid  to  think  about  it." 

Nevertheless,  with  that  word  they  fell  into  silence, 
as  though  the  inevitable  shadow  laid  a  solemn  finger 
upon  their  happy  lips. 

Sidney  was  indeed  anxious  about  Miss  Sally,  but 
there  had  been  no  thought  of  her  aunt  in  the  one  or 
two  troubled  words  of  death  and  love  which  she  ven 
tured  to  say  to  Katherine.  Her  mind  was  dwelling 
constantly  upon  those  words  of  Alan's.  She  felt  a 
trembling  exultation  as  of  escape  from  a  great 
calamity,  but  there  was  a  consciousness  in  her  face 
that  declared  that  at  last  the  calm  of  her  life  was 
broken. 

Major  Lee  saw  a  change  in  her,  and  was  quick, 
although  Sidney  told  him  nothing,  to  connect  it  with 
Alan.  The  little  reserve  in  the  doctor's  manner 


SIDNEY.  321 

gave  the  old  man  a  sense  of  relief  and  assurance, 
but  he  wished  that  Sidney  saw  fit  to  confide  in  him ; 
and  yet  he  felt,  regretfully,  that  it  would  scarcely  be 
proper  for  her  to  do  so.  In  his  absorption  in  his 
daughter,  he  was  the  last  person  to  be  affected  by 
Miss  Sally's  illness.  To  him  it  meant,  for  the  most 
part,  that  Alan  seemed  to  find  it  necessary  to  make 
a  great  many  visits,  and  that  his  own  meals  had  not 
the  punctuality  to  which  he  was  accustomed.  With 
scrupulous  exactness  he  asked  Sidney  every  day 
about  her  aunt,  but  her  knowledge  was  almost  as 
vague  as  his.  This  was  partly  because  it  pained 
her  to  hear  bad  news,  and  so  she  did  not  often 
inquire  of  Katherine  or  of  the  doctor  ;  but  mostly 
because  she  kept  out  of  Alan's  way  as  much  as  she 
possibly  could.  Once  he  met  her  in  the  library, 
and  told  her  briefly  of  Robert's  broken  engagement. 
"  I  thought,"  he  ended,  u  that  you  ought  to  know 
about  it.  Miss  Sally  wishes,  when  she  gets  well,  to 
explain  to  the  major  the  real  reason  that  the  engage 
ment  is  broken ;  she  told  me  so  the  other  day.  I 
am  only  to  tell  him  now  that  it  is  at  an  end.  But 
you  ought  to  know  the  truth,  so  that  you  need  not 
see  Mr.  Steele  when  he  comes  to  ask  for  her. 
Susan  says  he  comes  two  or  three  times  a  day." 

His  face  puzzled  her.  "  Why  do  you  speak  so 
fiercely  ?  Are  you  angry  with  Mr.  Steele  ?  " 

"  Angry  ?  "  cried  Alan.  "  I  despise  him  !  I  am 
done  with  him  !  " 

u  But  why  ?  " 

"  Why  did  he  do  it,  do  you  mean  ?  Because  he 
—  I  can  hardly  speak  of  him  !  —  he  felt  that  he  did 
not  love  her." 


322  SIDNEY. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  questioned  gravely. 

"  He  did  a  dishonorable  thing,  Sidney ;  to  break 
his  engagement  was  dishonorable." 

"  Was  it  ?  "  with  a  doubtful  look.  "  Why,  Alan, 
I  should  call  it  dishonorable  not  to  have  told  aunt 
Sally?" 

"  I  despair  of  making  you  understand  life,"  he 
said,  love  so  impatient  in  his  eyes  —  for  hope  had 
grown  again,  after  that  first  dismay  —  that  the  young 
woman,  in  sudden  terror,  left  him,  without  the  ques 
tion  she  wanted  to  ask  of  Miss  Sally's  condition. 

Alan's  pity  and  tenderness  were  giving  Miss  Sally 
a  joy  which  she  had  never  known  before,  and  her 
small  confidences  came  as  naturally  to  her  lips  as 
though  the  young  man  were  her  brother.  "  Alan 
understands,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  sigh  of  com 
fort  and  relief.  He  never  made  her  feel  how  foolish 
she  was,  she  thought,  although,  of  course,  he  was  so 
much  wiser  than  she.  To  her  timid  suggestion  that 
for  such  symptoms  as  hers  her  manual  prescribed 
coffea,  the  two  hundredth  potency,  he  listened  with 
"  as  much  respect  as  if  she  had  been  —  Mrs.  Paul !  " 
He  never  even  smiled,  when  she  said,  looking  up  at 
him  with  wistful  entreaty  that  he  would  be  patient 
with  her,  that  the  little  pills  in  the  vial  labeled  1 
were  for  certain  disorders  of  the  left  side  of  the  body, 
and  those  in  the  vial  labeled  2  for  indispositions  of 
the  right  side.  It  was  curious  to  see  with  what  gen 
tle  pertinacity  she  clung  to  her  belief  in  the  manual, 
although  admitting,  with  a  contradiction  which  in  its 
entire  unconsciousness  was  distinctively  feminine, 
that  Alan  knew  far  more  than  did  the  writer  of  her 


SIDNEY.  323 

beloved  volume.  It  was  on  the  third  or  fourth  day 
after  she  was  taken  ill  that  she  had  said  to  the 
young  man  in  a  hoarse  voice,  that  she  had  some 
thing  to  tell  him  when  they  were  alone.  So  the  doc 
tor  was  instant  to  send  Katherine  out  of  the  room, 
upon  some  excuse,  and  then  to  take  Miss  Sally's  lit 
tle  hot  hand  and  wait  for  whatever  she  might  have 
to  say.  She  looked  up  at  him  appealingly,  and  with 
a  face  upon  which  a  veil  of  years  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  fallen. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Steele  ?  "  she  said. 

Alan  flushed.     "I  do  not  know,  Miss  Sally." 

"  I'  m  afraid  he  is  not  happy,"  she  went  on,  appar 
ently  taking  for  granted  the  doctor's  knowledge  of 
the  broken  engagement ;  "  but  he  was  so  good,  Alan, 
so  good  and  kind  to  me.  And  he  did  just  what  was 
right.  It  would  have  been  cruel  to  have  deceived 
me,  when  I  trusted  him."  Alan  was  silent.  "  But 
what  I  wanted  to  say  was,  that  I  'm  afraid  Mortimer 
would  n't  understand,  and — and  I  don't  want  him 
to  know  that  it  was  Mr.  Steele  who  —  who  did  it. 
You  know  what  I  mean,  Alan.  I  '11  explain,  when 
I  get  well ;  but  will  you  just  tell  Mortimer  now  that 
I  —  that  I  didn't  want  to  get  married?  He  won't 
blame  me.  He  '11  think  I  am  —  wise."  She  smiled 
a  little  as  she  spoke,  and  closed  her  eyes,  as  though 
she  were  tired  ;  but  in  a  moment  she  looked  up 
brightly.  "  Will  you  please  give  Mr.  Steele  my  love, 
Alan?" 

If  Miss  Sally  had  been  able  to  think,  she  must 
have  had  enough  worldly  wisdom  to  see  the  apparent 
connection  between  her  illness  and  her  broken  en- 


324  SIDNEY. 

gagement,  and  to  have  explained  her  honest  and 
mortifying  relief.  As  it  was,  she  concerned  herself 
only  with  facts  ;  and  the  little  plea  made  for  her  old 
lover,  she  fell  asleep. 

Alan,  with  a  brevity  which  concealed  the  truth, 
told  the  major  that  Miss  Sally  desired  him  to  know 
she  had  felt  it  best  that  her  engagement  with  Mr. 
Steele  should  come  to  an  end,  and  the  major  received 
it  as  briefly.  "  I  have  no  doubt  my  sister  acts  wisely 
in  this  matter."  He  would  not  let  Alan  fancy  that 
he  could  blame  a  woman  of  his  own  house,  but  he 
was  annoyed  at  what  he  thought  of  as  Miss  Sally's 
changeableness.  He  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  speak  of  this  to  Sarah  as  soon  as  she  was 
about  again. 

There  are  some  persons  whose  place  in  the  world 
is  so  small  that  it  is  not  easy  to  fancy  they  may  die, 
and  Major  Lee  never  thought  of  his  sister  in  connec 
tion  with  anything  so  great  as  death.  It  was  only 
Alan  who  saw  how  seriously  ill  she  was. 

One  day,  —  Miss  Sally  had  been  sick  for  more 
than  a  week,  and  the  household  had  fallen  into  that 
acceptance  of  discomfort  which  comes  with  an  illness 
which  promises  to  be  long,  —  Sidney  met  the  doctor 
on  the  staircase,  just  after  he  had  left  her  aunt's 
room.  He  looked  troubled,  and  for  a  moment  did 
not  seem  to  notice  her ;  then  his  face  brightened,  in 
spite  of  his  anxiety. 

"  I  want  to  see  you  a  moment,  Sidney.  Come 
into  the  library,  won't  you  9  " 

"I  am  just  going  to  aunt  Sally,"  she  answered 
quickly.  She  was  on  the  first  landing,  where  the 


SIDNEY.  325 

great  square  window  with  a  fan-light  over  its  many 
little  leaded  panes,  opened  outwards  and  let  a  flood 
of  June  scents  and  sunshine  pour  down  into  the 
dusky  silence  of  the  hall.  She  did  not  look  up  at 
him,  as  he  stood  on  the  step  above  her,  his  hand  rest 
ing  on  the  stair  rail,  and  his  serious  eyes  searching 
her  face. 

"  Then  sit  down  here."  He  pointed  to  the  broad 
cushioned  seat  that  ran  across  the  window.  "  I  want 
to  ask  you  about  Miss  Sally." 

Sidney  sat  down,  reluctantly ;  but  she  looked  away 
from  him  at  a  trailing  spray  of  woodbine  which 
crept  along  the  window-sill.  One  hand,  with  up 
turned  palm,  lay  idly  in  her  lap,  and  the  other 
plucked  at  the  leaves  of  the  vine. 

"I  am  really  alarmed  about  Miss  Sally,"  said 
Alan.  "  I  want  to  ask  the  major  to  let  me  bring  in 
some  other  doctor,  so  that  we  may  consult.  I  don't 
know  whom  he  would  prefer,  and  I  must  not  wait 
until  evening  to  see  him.  I  thought  you  might  tell 
me  whom  he  would  like  to  have  me  call  in  ?  " 

Sidney  had  had  no  experience  with  sickness,  and 
she  did  not  have  the  heart-sinking  with  which  one 
hears  that  a  consultation  must  be  called.  On  the 
contrary,  she  was  so  much  relieved  that  Alan  chose 
this,  instead  of  that  other  subject,  that  she  looked 
directly  at  him.  "  I  am  sure  she  is  better,  Alan : 
she  does  not  talk  so  much  ;  you  said  she  talked  be 
cause  she  was  feverish." 

"  She  is  a  good  deal  worse,"  he  answered  decid 
edly  ;  "  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  very  anxious 
about  her." 


326  SIDNEY. 

Sidney's  face  whitened.  "Is  she  going  to  die?" 
she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  hope  not,  —  I  hope  not !  "  cried  the  young 
man.  "  But  we  must  do  all  we  can ;  and  so  I  want 
to  call  iii  some  one  else." 

Sidney  nodded ;  she  could  not  speak.  Alan 
looked  up  and  down  the  stairs,  and  over  his  shoulder 
into  the  garden.  Then,  leaning  forward,  he  took  her 
hand  in  a  quick  grasp. 

"  Sidney,  have  you  thought,  —  have  you  thought 
again  ?  "  The  speechless  reproach  in  her  eyes  could 
not  silence  him.  "  I  had  not  meant  to  say  anything 
just  now  ;  but  —  oh,  Sidney  ?  "  He  felt  the  protest 
of  her  silence.  "  I  can't  help  it.  I  —  I  love  you, 
and  I  can't  help  telling  you  about  it ;  perhaps  it 
will  teach  you  to  care  —  a  little  ?  " 

"  Alan,"  said  the  girl,  her  voice  trembling,  "  won't 
you  please  let  go  of  my  hand  ?  " 

He  released  it,  but  he  lifted  it  to  his  lips  and 
kissed  her  soft  white  wrist  with  sudden  passion  and 
instant  compunction.  "  Oh,  Sidney,  I  ought  not  to 
have  done  that.  I  won't  do  it  again  "  — 

A  kiss  is  a  wonderful  thing.  Sidney  turned 
white  and  red  ;  her  eyes  filled,  and  her  breath  came 
in  a  sob  in  her  round  throat.  For  a  moment  nei 
ther  of  them  had  any  words.  The  sun,  pouring  in 
through  the  great  window,  fell  in  a  pool  of  gold  at 
the  foot  of  the  bare,  dark  staircase,  where  a  jug  of 
roses  stood  on  a  spindle-legged  table ;  the  tarnished 
gilt  of  the  picture-frames  along  the  wall  showed  in 
straight  glimmering  lines ;  all  was  so  still  down  in 
the  dusky  hall,  one  could  see  the  motes  floating  in 
the  long  bar  of  sunshine. 


SIDNEY.  327 

"  Sidney  ?  "  he  entreated  softly. 

She  glanced  at  him  hurriedly,  and  then  out  at 
the  fragrant  tangle  of  the  garden. 

"  I  've  been  thinking  ever  since,"  she  said,  with 
simple  directness,  "and  it  has  seemed  to  me  that 
you  did  n't  know  what  you  were  saying,  and  I  felt 
as  though  I  wanted  to  tell  you  how  foolish  you  were, 
Alan."  She  was  so  earnest  that  he  smiled.  "  I  felt 
as  though  you  did  not  understand,  you  had  not 
thought,  how  dreadful  it  is  to  care  for  any  one. 
And  I  —  I  thought  I  would  explain  to  you.  Oh, 
listen  to  me,  —  don't  interrupt  me  !  Oh,  Alan,  love 
is  so  terrible !  " 

"No,  you  mean  that  grief  is  terrible,"  he  pro 
tested.  "  Love  is  only  good  and  beautiful." 

"  There  would  be  no  grief  if  there  were  no  love. 
Love  means  grief ;  it  means  fear.  Oh,  truly,  I  do 
not  see  how  sane  people  can  deliberately  invite  suf 
fering  by  loving  each  other." 

"  But,  Sidney,"  he  interposed,  "  we  don't  keep 
thinking  of  death  all  the  time  ;  it  is  n't  natural  —  it 
is  n't "  - 

"  Oh,  but,  Alan,"  she  cried,  her  voice  breaking, 
"  death  is  coming,  whether  we  think  of  it  or  not. 
Why,  it  seems  to  me,  if  some  being  from  another 
world  could  look  down  at  us,  and  see  us  actually 
planning  our  grief  and  misery,  arranging  for  it  by 
loving  each  other,  it  would  be  horrible  ;  but  it  would 
be  —  it  would  be  almost  something  to  laugh  at ! 
And  yet  —  that  is  just  what  you  would  do." 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  in  despair  ;  he  knew 
not  how  to  oppose  to  this  unhuman  reasonableness 


328  SIDNEY. 

and  calm  reality  (a  reality  life  studiously  ignores), 
that  passion  of  unreason  called  love. 

"To  teach  any  one  to  love,"  Sidney  went  on, 
"  seems  to  me  selfish ;  indeed,  it  does.  How  could 
I,  if  I  cared  for  you,  —  how  could  I  let  you  love 
me,  when  I  know  that  it  would  mean,  some  time, 
sorrow  or  fear  for  you  ?  We  are  such  friends,  you 
and  I,  I  can't  bear  to  think  that  you  might  suffer,  I 
can't  bear  to  make  you  unhappy."  She  had  risen, 
and  stood  looking  down  at  him,  her  face  quivering 
with  tears.  "  Oh,  how  can  people  bear  life  ?  Father 
is  the  only  person  in  the  world  I  love,  and  when  I 
think,  when  I  remember,  that  perhaps  he  will  —  he 
will  —  Oh,  I  cannot  say  it !  When  I  know  that  I 
fear  that,  then  I  say  to  myself,  I  will  suffer  only 
once  ;  sorrow  shall  never  come  to  me  again.  Alan, 
Alan,  I  do  not  love  you,  and  I  never  will  love  you ; 
and  I  would  not,  for  anything  this  world  could  offer 
me!" 

Even  as  he  listened,  he  knew  in  his  soul  that  this 
terrified,  entreating  woman  loved  him  ;  he  knew  it 
with  a  sudden  pain  about  his  heart  that  made  his  face 
gray.  He  could  not  speak,  except  to  say,  brokenly, 
"  It  is  nothing  ;  do  not  be  alarmed." 

Sidney,  in  the  terror  of  ignorance,  knew  not  what 
to  say  or  do.  "  What  is  it  ?  Oh  —  Alan  !  what  is 
the  matter?" 

He  caught  his  breath,  and  tried  to  speak,  to  reas 
sure  her,  but  could  only  motion  with  his  hand,  as 
though  to  say  again,  "  It  is  nothing ; "  and  then, 
almost  before  Sidney  realized  that  it  had  come,  the 
attack  was  ended,  although  his  breath  was  still  la 
bored  and  his  face  haggard. 


SIDNEY.  329 

In  that  instant,  Alan  Crossan  came  face  to  face 
with  great  realities.  The  physician  claimed  the  con 
sciousness  of  the  lover.  He  thought,  in  a  sudden 
flash  of  intelligence,  that  he  knew  what  this  increas 
ing  pain  and  hurrying  breath  foretold.  It  meant 
that  he  had  asked  Sidney  to  give  him  what  might  be 
only  a  few  months  of  happiness,  and  at  the  cost  of 
lasting  grief  to  her.  He  could  not  collect  his 
thoughts  enough  to  reply  to  her,  with  this  horrible 
spasm  still  lingering  at  his  heart,  yet  he  knew  that 
he  exulted  and  resigned  at  once. 

A  moment  later,  he  answered  her,  his  beautiful 
dark  eyes  radiant  with  gladness :  "  My  own  Sidney, 
you  are  not  right,  not  right ;  love  is  worth  the  cost. 
One  does  not  think  of  the  end  with  the  hope  of 
many  years  together.  But  if  there  may  not  be 
many  years,  then  it  is  not  for  you  to  withhold  it ;  it 
is  for  me  to  resign  it.  So  don't  grieve ;  I  will  not 
let  you  love  me,  Sidney." 


XXIV. 

UNTIL  that  day  when  he  promised  Sidney  that  she 
should  not  love  him,  Alan  had  felt  incapable  of  de 
livering  Miss  Sally's  message  to  Robert.  He  had 
seen  his  old  friend  once  or  twice  in  the  street,  or 
corning  out  of  the  major's  gate,  and  had  given  him 
some  stern,  brief  greeting,  but  nothing  more  ;  no 
encouragement,  no  reproof,  no  reproach.  He  knew 
where  Robert  was  staying,  and  was  careful  to  avoid 
that  part  of  the  town.  Such  avoidance  was  really, 
although  the  doctor  did  not  know  it,  the  protest  of  a 
possibility,  the  fear  that  he  might  forgive  him.  But 
after  those  moments  with  Sidney  upon  the  landing 
of  the  stairs,  after  his  glimpse  of  death  and  life  and 
love  together,  Alan  entered  into  that  exalted  silence 
which  accompanies  the  glory  of  renunciation,  and  in 
which  a  man  girds  himself  with  joy  for  any  duty. 

So,  towards  evening,  still  very  much  weakened 
by  that  terrible  pain  about  his  heart,  he  went  to  find 
Mr.  Steele,  that  he  might  tell  him  what  Miss  Sally 
had  said.  When  he  reached  Robert's  door,  a  new, 
or  rather  a  very  old,  tenderness  began  to  assert  itself 
in  his  heart.  "  Poor  Bob ! "  he  said  to  himself 
once ;  adding  fiercely,  "  He  deserves  all  he  gets  !  " 

Robert  was  sitting  listlessly  at  his  desk.  He 
looked  up,  as  the  doctor  entered,  with  a  terrified 
question  in  his  eyes.  "  No,"  said  Alan  curtly,  "  but 


SIDNEY.  331 

she  's  worse.  I  am  here  —  she  sent  me  here  to  say 
that  you  did  right,  that  you  were  'always  kind 
and  good,' "  —  Robert  dropped  his  head  into  his 
hands,  and  Alan,  with  satisfaction,  observed  that  at 
every  word  the  iron  entered  deeper  into  his  soul,  — 
"  '  kind  and  good,'  she  said  ;  and  she  sent  her  love 
to  you." 

"  She  is  going  to  die  ?  "  the  other  asked,  at  last. 

"  Probably."     And  then  silence. 

After  a  while  Robert  looked  up.  "I  thank  you 
for  coming."  His  face  was  so  changed  and  strained, 
so  haggard,  and,  worse  than  all,  so  stamped  by  the 
relief  which  he  had  sought,  that  something  blurred. 
Alan's  eyes  for  one  quick  instant. 

"My  God,  Steele!  why  did  you  do  it?"  he  de 
manded. 

"  I  had  no  right  to  deceive  her,"  Robert  an 
swered.  "  She  was  going  to  marry  me  because  she 
thought  I  loved  her.  I  did  not  love  her.  I  had  to 
tell  her  so."  There  was  no  question  in  his  voice ; 
only  dull  despair  that  the  inevitable  should  have 
fallen  upon  him. 

"  I  cannot  grasp  it !  "  Alan  cried  ;  and  then, 
remembering,  "  So  this  is  what  you  asked  my  ad 
vice  about,  and  I  spoke  of  the  picture  or  the 
jewel?" 

The  other  assented,  absently.  He  had  no  thought 
of  sharing  his  responsibility. 

Alan  struggled  with  instinct  and  affection.  Rob 
ert  had  been  dishonorable,  but  —  he  was  Robert! 
"  Bob,  I  know  you  meant  what  was  right ;  I  —  I 
understand,  old  fellow,  but  I  can't  forget  it,  ever, 


332  SIDNEY. 

nor  forgive  it.  You  must  have  a  friend  who  is 
greater  than  I.  You  must  let  me  go,  Bob." 

Robert  Steele's  lack-lustre  eyes  stared  blankly  at 
the  emotion  in  the  doctor's  face.  "  Very  well,"  he 
said. 

It  was  a  comment  upon  the  power  of  that  moment 
which  had  so  shaken  Alan's  soul,  that  he  felt  no 
repulsion  as  be  saw  this  betrayal  of  the  return  to 
weakness  and  vice.  He  grasped  the  listless  hand  of 
the  miserable  man  before  him,  and  held  it  hard  in 
his.  "  I  will  trust  your  motives  so  long  as  I  live, 
but  I  detest  the  expression  of  them." 

He  turned  as  though  to  leave  him  ;  he  was  too 
much  moved  even  to  warn  or  entreat  his  friend  to 
shake  off  the  habit  which  was  fastening  upon  him 
again.  Alan's  hand  was  on  the  door,  when  Robert, 
smiling  dully,  spoke :  "  I  've  gone  back  to  hell, 
Alan.  It  is  retribution  ;  it  is  just." 

"  You  shall  not  go  back  to  hell !  "  cried  the  other. 
"  I  will  not  let  you  go !  " 

He  turned,  and  came  again  to  Robert's  side. 
Neither  of  the  men  spoke :  Alan  because  he  could 
not ;  but  the  other,  his  head  bowed  upon  his  hands, 
was  apparently  as  indifferent  to  silence  as  he  had 
been  to  words.  At  last  the  doctor  began  to  speak, 
and  told  him,  pitifully  and  truly,  all  about  Miss 
Sally,  and  how  little  hope  there  was.  Yet  Alan 
had  to  learn,  as  many  another  eager  and  forgiving 
soul  has  learned,  with  tears,  that  forgiveness  may 
not  sweep  away  the  fact;  a  good  deed  and  a  bad 
deed  have,  equally,  the  permanence  of  the  past. 
His  friend  seemed  to  listen,  but  made  no  comment. 


SIDNEY.  333 

Alan's  tenderness,  even  his  remorse  for  his  harsh 
ness,  could  make  no  difference  to  Robert  in  this 
stress  of  fate.  He  had  wounded,  insulted,  humili 
ated,  the  woman  who  trusted  him :  and  now  she 
was  dying.  He  scarcely  noticed  when  Alan  left 
him,  with  that  speechless  sympathy  of  the  grasp  of 
a  hand  which  is  better  than  brave  words. 

The  drift  of  circumstances  in  these  June  days 
brought  Miss  Sally  into  the  very  centre  of  her  small 
world  ;  and  when  her  patient  feet  went  down  into 
the  valley  of  death  every  one's  thoughts  were  upon 
her.  Perhaps  it  is  the  possibilities  of  the  Great 
Silence  which  so  dignify  the  most  insignificant  liv 
ing  thing.  Miss  Sally  had  never,  in  all  her  useful 
life,  commanded  such  respect  as  now  when  her  use 
fulness  was  drawing  to  an  end.  Her  dignity  silenced 
even  Mrs.  Paul,  sitting  alone  in  her  big  drawing- 
room,  and  forgetting  to  rail  at  neglect  which  once 
would  have  infuriated  her ;  for  of  course  Sidney 
could  not  leave  her  aunt,  and  Katherine  was  always 
at  the  major's  when  not  giving  a  lesson.  Once  Mrs. 
Paul  had  cried  out  impatiently  at  Sally's  selfishness 
in  keeping  her ;  but  Katherine's  quick  indignation 
had  silenced,  even  while  it  delighted,  the  old  woman. 

Katherine  still  kept  up  her  teaching,  to  the  annoy 
ance  of  Mrs.  Paul,  and  the  great  but  protesting 
admiration  of  Mrs.  Paul's  son.  To  be  sure,  there 
was  one  pupil  less,  as  Eliza  Jennings  had  ceased  to 
experiment  upon  the  organ  with  twenty-two  stops. 
Katherine  told  John  that  Eliza  had  dropped  her, 
but  she  did  not  see  fit  to  add  why.  Indeed,  it 
would  have  needed  a  more  subtle  mind  than  Kath- 


334  SIDNEY. 

erine  Townsend's  to  have  understood  why  it  was 
that,  under  all  her  amusement  at  the  silly  little  mil 
liner,  under  her  laughter  at  having  been  dismissed 
"  without  a  character,"  there  was  a  feeling  very 
much  like  anger  when  she  reflected  that  Eliza  had 
said  she  was  "  in  love  with  Mr.  Paul."  This  was 
far  below  the  surface.  Katherine's  mind  and  heart 
were  too  full,  while  Miss  Sally  lay  dying,  to  give 
way  to  such  folly ;  whereas  Eliza  had  nothing  to 
keep  her  thoughts  from  preying  upon  her  own 
humiliation.  Her  little  freckled  face  tingled  when 
ever  her  eyes  rested  on  her  organ,  which  she  abso 
lutely  refused  to  open.  In  vain  did  her  mother 
implore  her  to  play  the  hymns  with  which  it  was 
their  custom  to  end  every  Sunday  evening,  or  to 
practice  "  just  a  bit,  to  keep  your  hand  in,  'Liza." 

"  No,  ma'am,"  returned  her  daughter  sternly.  "  I 
ain't  got  any  music  in  me,  nowadays." 

She  said  this  with  such  a  bitter  look  that  Mrs. 
Jennings  almost  wept.  Indeed,  Eliza's  disappoint 
ment,  which  expressed  itself  by  filial  disapproval, 
wore  so  upon  her  mother  that  Mrs.  Jennings'  face 
really  looked  thinner;  her  small,  twinkling  eyes, 
rimmed  with  red,  grew  larger,  and  their  short  lashes 
held  very  often  a  glitter  of  tears.  Both  mother  and 
daughter  had  heard  that  Mr.  Paul  was  to  marry 
Miss  Townsend.  Mrs.  Jennings  did  not  attempt  to 
conceal  her  anger  and  spite,  but  the  little  milliner 
set  her  lips  and  fell  into  stony  silences,  which  terri 
fied  her  mother.  Everything  had  come  to  an  end, 
Eliza  told  herself.  To  be  sure,  she  still  occasionally 
saw  John  Paul's  burly  figure  lounging  across  the 


SIDNEY.  335 

bridge  and  hurrying  towards  Red  Lane ;  but  what 
was  that  to  her,  if  he  loved  "  Another  "  ?  So  she 
let  her  mother  take  the  toll,  and  turned  her  eyes 
away,  lest  she  might  have  to  say  good -after  noon. 
She  had  nothing  now  —  this  in  the  diary  in  violet 
ink  and  underlined  —  "  to  live  for."  So,  as  one 
will  fill  a  vacant  life  with  anything,  she  thought 
much  of  Job  Todd. 

One  day> — it  was  towards  the  end  of  June, — 
Mrs.  Jennings  was  more  than  usually  unhappy  about 
her  daughter.  Eliza  had  been  very  morose  for  two 
days.  That  morning  she  ate  her  breakfast  in  si 
lence,  and  then  started  out  for  a  walk,  —  at  least  so 
her  mother  supposed;  but  Eliza  vouchsafed  no 
information  concerning  her  plans,  although  Mrs. 
Jennings  hinted  timidly  that  the  gooseberries  and 
black  currants  ought  to  be  picked,  and  she  did  n't 
know  but  what  Eliza  would  like  to  do  it  ?  Eliza, 
however,  ignored  the  veiled  entreaty  that  she  should 
help  her  mother  in  the  tiresome  task.  So  Mrs.  Jen 
nings,  when  she  was  alone,  with  a  sigh  which  seemed 
to  struggle  up  from  the  soles  of  her  feet,  took  her 
shining  tin  bucket,  and  went  out  into  the  garden  to 
do  the  work  herself.  The  black  currant  bushes 
stood  in  a  row  along  one  of  the  winding  paths,  and 
although  it  was  inconvenient  to  peer  through  the 
leaves,  Mrs.  Jennings,  sitting  on  the  ground  and 
holding  the  pail  between  her  knees,  could  still  keep 
an  eye  on  the  toll-house  window,  in  case  any  one 
wanted  to  change  a  nickel.  Again  she  sighed  ;  she 
wished  Eliza  could  have  stayed  at  home  just  this 
once.  The  soft  roughness  of  the  musky  leaves  was 


336  SIDNEY. 

still  gleaming  with  dew,  and  when  she  began  to 
pluck  the  black  shining  clusters,  her  hand  and 
sleeve  were  wet.  There  was  a  bush  beside  her,  of 
big  pink  flowers,  with  the  pungent  scent  of  peach 
kernels.  Mrs.  Jennings  called  them  "  piano-roses ;  " 
and  she  glanced  at  them  as  one  regards,  listlessly, 
an  outgrown  interest ;  then  she  stopped  to  smell  a 
spray  of  lad's  love,  and  stick  it  in  her  bosom,  but  it 
was  from  habit  rather  than  any  enjoyment  of  sum 
mer  sights  and  scents.  On  her  fat  left  hand  the 
narrow  thread  of  her  wedding  ring  was  sunk  deep 
into  the  flesh.  Mrs.  Jennings'  eyes  filled  as  she 
looked  at  it.  "  I  do  believe  I  '11  get  thin,"  she 
thought ;  looking  as  unhappy  as  a  very  stout  woman 
may.  (It  is  strange  what  poignant  misery  this 
thought  of  lessening  weight  indicates  in  a  large  per 
son.)  But  her  self-pity  never  reproached  Eliza. 

The  hot  sunshine  and  the  glitter  of  the  river  be 
low,  the  glow  of  her  poppies  and  lady's-slippers,  and 
even  the  loaded  branches  of  the  black  currants  failed 
to  cheer  her.  She  picked  the  fruit  with  dreary 
steadiness,  winking  away  her  tears  now  and  then, 
and  thinking  all  the  while  of  Eliza. 

The  hour  among  the  currant  bushes  seemed  very 
long  to  Mrs.  Jennings,  and  she  was  glad  at  last  to 
go  back  to  the  house,  and  begin  to  make  her  jam 
and  jelly.  Still  Eliza  did  not  come  home.  Mrs. 
Jennings  was  not  an  imaginative  person,  but  her 
anxiety  during  the  last  two  months  because  of  her 
daughter's  trouble,  and  her  forlorn  dismay  at  being 
disapproved  of,  had  made  her  really  quite  nervous ; 
that  is,  if  nerves  are  ever  found  in  such  depths  of 


SIDNEY.  337 

flesh.  At  all  events,  she  began  to  be  tremulous  and 
frightened  ;  she  glanced  often  out  of  the  window, 
along  the  footpath  of  the  bridge,  and  once  or  twice 
she  walked  to  the  little  gate,  and,  shading  her  eyes 
with  her  hands,  looked  up  and  down  the  dusty  white 
road.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  Eliza.  She  found 
herself  remembering  with  cruel  persistency  that 
winter  afternoon  when  the  handsome  gentleman 
jumped  from  the  bridge  into  the  river,  because  a  poor 
girl  had  tried  to  take  her  own  life.  Mrs.  Jennings 
shivered  and  gasped,  and  went  back  into  her  spot 
lessly  clean  little  kitchen  to  stir  the  black  currant 
jam.  Once  she  heard  a  noise  upon  the  bridge,  and 
rushed  breathless  to  the  toll  window,  with  a  horrible 
vision  of  her  Eliza  being  borne  home,  drowned  ! 
Her  slow,  unused  imagination  showed  her  the  drip 
ping,- clinging  garments,  the  loosened  hair,  even  that 
strange  sneer  with  which,  through  their  half -closed 
eyes,  the  dead  sometimes  regard  the  living.  She 
was  experiencing  that  quickening  of  the  mind  which 
comes  under  the  spur  of  terror  or  grief ;  indeed,  her 
anxiety  had  brought  a  sort  of  refinement  into  her 
face.  The  noise,  however,  was  only  because  a  flock 
of  sheep  was  being  driven  to  the  shambles.  She 
stood  and  watched  them,  staring  into  the  gloom  of 
the  covered  bridge.  Dusky  lines  of  sunshine 
stretched  down  into  the  darkness  from  the  small 
barred  windows  in  the  roof ;  they  were  so  clearly  de 
fined  that  the  poor  silly  sheep,  trampling  and  run 
ning,  leaped  over  them,  one  after  another.  In  the 
past  this  had  often  diverted  Mrs.  Jennings,  but  it 
could  not  divert  her  now. 


338  SIDNEY. 

The  drove  of  sheep  came  out  into  the  glare  of  sun 
shine,  a  cloud  of  dust  following  them  up  the  road ; 
and  then  all  was  still  again,  —  only  the  splash  of  the 
river  and  the  slow  bubble  of  the  jam  in  the  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Jennings  could  not  stand  the  strain.  She 
dropped  into  the  big  rocking-chair,  and  burst  into 
tears.  Rocking  and  sobbing,  she  did  not  hear  Eliza 
enter ;  but  when  the  little  milliner  spoke,  the  change 
in  her  voice  electrified  her  mother. 

"Ma,"  said  Eliza;  then  she  put  her  hand  behind 
her,  and  thrust  forward,  bashful  and  uncomfortable, 
Job  Todd. 

"  La !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Jennings. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Eliza  gleefully.  "  Job's  building 
'way  up  at  the  end  of  Red  Lane,  an'  I  was  walking 
up  there  ;  an'  —  an'  then  I  coaxed  him  to  come  here 
to  dinner." 

" Thank  the  Lord!  "  said  Mrs.  Jennings  devoutly. 
"  That 's  just  right.  An'  he  shall  have  the  best  din 
ner  he  ever  had  in  his  life." 

Job  protested,  but  suffered  her  to  put  him  in  the 
chair  she  promptly  vacated  for  him;  he  then  ac 
cepted  Eliza's  offer  of  cake,  and  received  a  fan  from 
Mrs.  Jennings'  hand.  The  two  women  said  nothing 
to  each  other,  but  both  beamed  with  happiness,  and 
seemed  to  consider  Job  Todd  an  object  of  the  tender- 
est  solicitude.  Apparently,  they  thought  that  he 
had  been  through  such  an  exhausting  morning  that 
he  needed  refreshment  and  repose.  Eliza  told  her 
mother  to  hurry  and  get  dinner,  "  and,"  she  added, 
u  I  '11  play  the  organ,  so  Job  can  rest."  Eliza  blushed 
so  prettily  as  she  assumed  this  air  of  proprietorship 


SIDNEY.  339 

that  Mrs.  Jennings,  before  she  prepared  the  dinner, 
even  before  she  removed  the  kettles  of  jam  and  jelly 
from  the  stove,  knelt  slowly  and  heavily  down  by  the 
dresser  in  the  kitchen,  and,  hiding*  her  face  in  her 
hands,  breathed  a  very  humble  and  grateful  prayer. 

That  was  a  great  day  at  the  toll-house.  Job  spent 
the  whole  afternoon  in  the  sitting-room,  rocking  ve 
hemently  in  the  big  chair,  or  sitting  on  the  horse 
hair  sofa,  at  Eliza's  side.  Once  or  twice,  Mrs.  Jen 
nings,  first  coughing  outside  the  door,  ventured  to 
enter,  just  to  see  her  darling's  happiness  and  to 
assure  herself  that  she  was  forgiven.  In  Mrs.  Jen 
nings'  circle,  the  formality  of  asking  and  receiving 
pardon  is  not  often  observed. 

In  Eliza's  mind,  however,  the  end  for  which  this 
whole  blissful  day  had  been  created  was  the  manner 
in  which  the  evening  was  to  be  spent.  By  dint  of 
entreaties  and  a  little  pouting,  she  persuaded  Job  to 
go  with  her  to  tell  Miss  Katherine  Townsend  the 
great  news.  "  I  want  her  to  know  it  first  of  all," 
she  confessed,  sitting  on  Job's  knee  and  hiding  her 
face  in  his  shoulder.  Of  course  she  did  not  explain 
why  she  wished  Miss  Townsend  to  be  told,  nor  did 
she  yield  to  Job's  suggestion  that  it  would  be  just  as 
well  to  go  the  next  night.  She  was  shrewd  enough 
to  be  perfectly  certain  that  her  plan  must  be  carried 
out  on  this  especial  evening,  or  not  at  all.  This  first 
day  was  an  occasion  so  solemn,  so  important,  so  un 
comfortable,  that  Job  could  be  induced  to  bear 
almost  anything.  To-morrow  it  would  be  quite  dif 
ferent.  So  when,  at  Miss  Townsend's  door,  Maria 
told  them  that  her  mistress  was  not  at  home,  Eliza 


340  SIDNEY. 

had  one  moment  of  blank  dismay,  while  Job's  honest 
face  began  to  brighten.  But  the  milliner  was  equal 
to  the  occasion. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  she  demanded,  and  Mr.  Todd's 
jaw  dropped. 

Maria  mournfully  directed  her  to  Major  Lee's 
house,  adding  that  somebody  was  sick  there,  and  — 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Eliza  ;  "  we  're  just  going  to 
the  door,"  and,  taking  Job's  arm,  she  marched  off 
triumphantly. 

"  Well,  now,  do  ye  know,  really,  it  seems  to  me," 
observed  her  lover,  "  I  ain't  sure  but  what  it  would 
be  as  well  to  just  fetch  up  with  a  walk,  'stead  of 
making  a  call,  'Liza  ?  "  This  with  a  tender  look ; 
but  Eliza  was  firm. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  they  reached  Major  Lee's, 
and  under  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  ailantus  the  un- 
lighted  house  looked  blank  and  forbidding.  There 
had  been  no  thought  of  lights  in  the  library,  that 
night,  or  in  the  hall ;  only  in  the  dining-room,  where 
the  little  group  about  the  table  spoke  in  hushed 
voices,  and  fell  into  long  silences. 

Miss  Sally  was  very  ill ;  Miss  Sally  was  dying. 
Alan  had  told  Major  Lee  so,  and  Katherine.  He 
could  not  tell  Sidney  yet ;  he  would  not  let  her  give 
up  hope.  He  had  come  down  from  Miss  Sally's 
room  for  a  cup  of  tea,  and  Sidney  slipped  upstairs  to 
her  aunt  as  he  entered.  Major  Lee  was  pacing  rest 
lessly  up  and  down.  Katherine  and  John  sat  silently 
watching  Alan,  as  he  hurriedly  ate  and  drank. 

It  was  just  then  that  little  Susan,  trembling  in  a 
way  that  told  her  terror  as  well  as  her  grief,  pushed 


SIDNEY.  341 

the  door  open  and  looked  into  the  room.  It  was  a 
comfort  to  see  the  people,  Susan  thought,  now,  while 
Miss  Sally  lay  dying  upstairs,  even  if  it  were  only  to 
say  there  was  somebody  waiting  at  the  door.  "  If 
it  had  been  any  one  else  that  was  —  that  was  — 
dyin',  Miss  Sally  would  n't  'a'  let  a  girl  sit  all  alone 
in  that  big  kitchen,"  she  thought,  with  a  sob,  looking 
fearfully  over  her  shoulder  at  the  shadows  on  the 
staircase. 

"Miss  Townsend,"  she  said,  "there  's  a  lady  and 
gentleman  to  see  you,  but  they  won't  come  in." 

"To  see  me?"  Katherine  answered,  surprised, 
and  rising. 

"  Shall  I  not  go  for  you  ?  "  John  asked,  with  that 
lowered  voice  which  is  the  tribute  of  life  to  death ; 
but  she  shook  her  head. 

She  waited  for  Susan  to  follow  her  with  a  lamp, 
and  then  went  to  the  front  door,  which  the  servant, 
uncertain  of  the  character  of  these  callers,  had 
closed,  leaving  them  standing  on  the  porch. 

Neither  Job  nor  Eliza  could  see  the  anxiety  in 
Katherine's  face,  for  taking  the  lamp  from  Susan, 
she  held  it  so  that  the  light  fell  only  upon  her  vis 
itors  ;  but  the  man  was  more  sensitive  than  the 
woman,  and  felt  instinctively  that  they  had  made  a 
mistake  in  coming:.  He  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the 

O 

other,  and  would  have  shrunk  behind  his  sweet 
heart,  had  she  permitted  it.  But  Eliza  had  no 
intention  of  permitting  it.  She  put  her  little  rough 
hand  upon  his  arm  and  pulled  him  forward. 

"  Miss  Townsend,"  she  said,  an  unusual  glitter  in 
her  eyes  and  a  hint  of  boldness  in  her  voice,  "  we 


342  SIDXEY. 

came.  Job  and  me,  to  tell  you  —  to  t*U  you" — • 
Eliza  hung  her  head. 

•*  Yes,  Eliza  ?  ""  Katheriiie  answered,  guessing  the 
news  at  once,  but  too  sad  and  too  absorbed  to  ex 
press  the  pleasure  she  really  felt. 

••  We  are  engaged  !  "  burst  out  Eliza,  4%  Miss 
Townsend.  we  're  engaged,  and  we  expect  to  be  mar 
ried." 

"  'Liza  would  come  to  tell  you,"  Job  objected 
feebly. 

"She  knew  I  would  be  glad  to  hear  it,"  said 
Katherine :  and  then  she  added  some  kind  and 
pleasant  things,  and  Eliza,  to  her  great  surprise, 
felt  all  the  old  love  and  respect  come  back  with  a 
rush. 

"You  are  real  good.  Miss  Townsend,"  she  de 
clared,  and  squeezed  her  teacher's  hand  between  her 
own.  "  Ain't  she  good.  Job  ?  ?' 

*"I  was  always  saying  that,"  Job  answered  gal 
lantly,  feeling  really  very  happy. 

Katherine  was  honestly  glad  of  little  Eliza's  hap 
piness,  but  she  was  astounded  to  find  something 
beside  gladness  in  her  heart ;  was  it  possible  that  it 
was  relief?  '*  Well,"  she  thought,  listening  to  Job's 
clumsy  praises  of  his  betrothed,  "  after  all,  there  is 
nothing  which  can  surprise  one  so  much  as  to  dis 
cover  one's  own  possibilities.  Heaven  knows  what 
crime  I  may  be  capable  of.  if  I  have  resented  Eliza's 
nonsense !  "' 

She  smiled  at  the  lovers  in  the  kindest  way,  and 
then,  with  a  word  of  there  being  sickness  in  the 
house,  dismissed  them ;  for  it  was  evident  that  Eliza 
was  willing  to  linger  for  further  display  of  her  joy. 


SIDNEY.  343 

Katherine  stood  in  the  doorway  a  moment,  hold 
ing  the  lamp  high  above  her  head,  so  that  her  guests 
might  see  their  way  across  the  courtyard  to  the 
gate ;  but  as  she  turned  to  go  into  the  house,  she 
was  startled  to  see  a  dark  figure  approach  her  from 
the  distant  end  of  the  piazza. 

"  Who  .is  it  ? "  she  said  quickly ;  and  then, 
44  Cousin  Robert !  " 

"  How  is  she  now  ?  "  he  said  hoarsely.  His  face 
was  wrung  and  torn  by  suffering,  and  the  tears 
sprang  to  Katherine's  eyes. 

44  Oh,  have  you  been  out  here  all  alone  ?  Come 
in,  —  come  in." 

He  shook  his  head.     44  Is  it  over  ?     Is  she  dead  ? '' 

44  Xo,  —  oh,  no  !  "  cried  Katherine. 

44  She  is  dying,  —  I  know  that ;  Alan  told  me." 

Katherine  could  not  answer  him,  for  tears. 

44 1  have  killed  her,  Kate,"  he  said  dully. 

44  Dear  cousin  Robert,"  she  entreated,  44  don't  stay 
here  in  the  darkness ;  come  in,  and  wait  and  pray 
with  us.  We  all  love  her,  and  while  there  is  life, 
you  know" —  She  forgot  that  John  Paul  was 
within, — -'John  Paul,  who  had  called  this  agonized 
soul  "a  man  too  contemptible*  for  contempt." 
44  Come  in,  —  come  in ;  don't  stay  out  here  by  your 
self.  She  would  be  grieved  to  know  that  you  suf 
fered  so." 

44  She  would  be  grieved  ?  "  His  voice  broke  into 
a  cry.  4t  At  least  she  does  not  know  it  —  at  least 
she  is  spared  that !  " 

And  then  he  turned  back  into  the  night. 


XXV. 

SIDNEY  said,  very  quietly,  that  she  would  sit  up 
with  Miss  Sally  that  night.  Heretofore,  Katherine 
and  Scarlett  had  divided  the  watching-  between  them, 
and  for  the  last  two  nights  Alan  had  not  left  the 
house ;  but  it  was  a  matter  of  course  to  every  one 
that  Sidney  should  rest,  and,  so  far  as  the  others 
knew,  she  had  done  so.  At  least,  she  had  gone  to 
her  room.  But  Sidney  was  living  too  intensely, 
easily  to  lose  herself  in  sleep.  She  was  leaving  her 
old  life  to  go  out  into  a  wider  living,  and  she  found 
Death  standing  on  the  threshold.  Love  did  not 
oppose  him,  but  human  instinct  did.  Her  neglect 
of  her  aunt,  of  the  pitiful  little  love  which  was 
drifting  away  from  her,  stung  her  with  intolerable 
impatience.  She  felt  that  helpless  impulse  to  go 
back  into  the  past  which  comes  with  the  sense  of 
duty  left  undone.;  and  the  consciousness  of  the  futil 
ity  of  such  an  impulse  is  almost  anger.  It  could 
not  be  too  late.  She  must  do  something,  say  some 
thing  now  !  Yet,  there  being  no  love  in  her  heart, 
this  effort  was,  although  she  was  not  aware  of  it,  for 
her  own  relief  rather  than  for  Miss  Sally's  happi 
ness.  Again  and  again,  before  the  dull  stupor 
drowned  her  aunt's  unfailing  tenderness,  Sidney 
had  tried,  in  broken,  hesitating  words,  to  say,  "I 
am  sorry  —  forgive  me."  But  Miss  Sally  never 


SIDNEY.  345 

seemed  to  understand ;  she  was  only  feebly  con 
cerned  that  her  darling  should  be  sorry  about  any 
thing.  That  Sidney  could  blame  herself  because 
she  had  neglected  her  aunt  was  not  credible  to  Miss 
Sally,  whose  life  had  been  too  full  of  the  gladness  of 
giving  to  realize  that  there  had  been  no  receiving  in 
it. 

As  Sidney  watched  the  relentless  days  carry  her 
opportunity  away  from  her,  the  pain  of  self-know 
ledge  grew  unbearable.  Alan  had  told  her  she  was 
selfish  ?  Oh,  he  did  not  know  how  selfish  she  was  ; 
no  one  knew  it  but  herself.  The  burden  of  a  hu 
man  soul  fell  upon  her,  —  the  knowledge  of  good 
and  evil. 

Her  remorse  filled  her  with  a  mysterious  fear. 
It  was  something  outside  herself,  terrible,  inescap 
able  ;  with  it  was  an  insistent  suggestion  of  some 
different  line  of  conduct,  which  confused  her  by  its 
contradiction  of  all  which  had  been  the  purpose  of 
her  life.  What  was  this  impulse  to  self-sacrifice 
against  which  she  had  always  opposed  herself,  as 
one  who  beats  against  an  unseen  wind  ?  To  turn 
and  advance  with  it  might  be  peace,  for  setting  her 
self  against  it  had  brought  dismay  ;  but  the  recogni 
tion  of  such  an  impulse  filled  her  with  the  terror  of 
the  Unknown. 

She  saw  the  unloveliness  of  selfishness,  and  was 
quick  to  turn  away  from  it,  with  an  aesthetic  percep 
tion  of  the  beauty  of  holiness.  Goodness  com 
mended  itself  to  her ;  she  would  be  good,  she  would 
be  unselfish.  She  could  not  comprehend  why,  this 
resolution  made,  pain  should  still  dominate  her  con- 


346  SIDNEY. 

sciousness.  Anger  and  fear  lifted  her  out  of  her 
self  ;  it  was  the  same  tumult  of  emotion  which  had 
clamored  in  her  soul  when  Love  had  first  whispered 
to  her. 

Miss  Sally's  dim  realization  of  Sidney's  pain  was 
too  indistinct  even  for  her  sweet  forgiveness,  which 
would  have  protested  that  there  was  nothing  to  for 
give.  She  liked  just  to  rest,  she  said,  and  let  Sid 
ney  read  the  daily  chapter  in  the  Bible  to  her ;  or, 
sometimes,  to  listen  to  a  word  or  two  from  Mr. 
Brown,  who  came  often,  in  these  last  few  days,  to 
see  her.  It  was  Mr.  Brown's  presence  which 
pointed  out  the  future  to  Miss  Sally. 

"  Why,  am  I  very  sick,  Alan  ?  "  she  said,  in  her 
little  weak  voice. 

"  We  are  anxious,  dear  Miss  Sally,"  the  young 
man  answered  tenderly. 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled.  "  Don't  he 
worried,"  she  said,  with  the  old  instinct  to  make 
other  people  comfortable;  and  then,  later,  as  though 
half  asleep,  "  I  thought  —  that  I  had  all  the  world, 
Alan  —  but  I  seem  —  I  seem  to  have  eternity,  in 
stead."  And  with  great  content  Miss  Sally  went 
down  into  the  shadows. 

All  that  last  day,  except  in  the  paroxysms  of 
coughing,  she  had  seemed  to  Sidney  to  sleep.  But 
it  was  a  strange  sleep ;  and  when  she  roused  a  little 
from  it,  there  was  no  loving  look,  no  murmur  of 
thanks,  even  when  Alan  gave  her  medicine,  or  when 
Katherine  slipped  a  bit  of  ice  between  her  lips. 

John  Paul  stayed  very  late  that  night.  Little 
Susan  sat  trembling  in  the  kitchen  until  twelve. 


SIDNEY.  347 

The  major  walked  softly  and  restlessly  through  the 
halls,  and  up  and  down  stairs.  Katherine,  worn  out 
with  watching,  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  broad  seat 
of  the  first  landing,  her  head  resting  on  a  cushion 
the  major  had  brought  her  from  the  library.  Alan, 
quite  without  hope,  sat  outside  Miss  Sally's  door  ; 
Sidney  was  within.  Everything  was  tingling  with 
the  intensest  life  to  the  girl ;  the  dark  silence  of  the 
stately  old  house  was  palpitating  with  the  thoughts 
of  birth  and  death  ;  the  procession  of  the  years  had 
left  luminous  touches  upon  the  very  walls.  Every 
thing  thrilled  with  life  ;  the  house  was  alive,  and 
this  drama  of  death  was  its  soul.  Sidney  was  living 
as  she  had  never  lived  before ;  every  nerve  was 
tense  with  terror,  not  of  death,  but  of  life. 

As  she  sat  by  Miss  Sally's  bedside,  she  watched 
the  yellow  blur  of  the  night-lamp  in  the  darkness  of 
the  further  corner,  or  glanced  at  the  terrible  white 
ness  of  the  face  upon  the  pillow  ;  and  to  each  —  to 
darkness,  and  to  death,  and  to  her  own  stress  of  life 
—  her  soul  cried  out,  What  are  you  ?  The  slow 
hours  drifted  into  each  other,  marked  only  by  Alan 
entering  or  departing,  or  by  Major  Lee  pausing  in 
the  doorway  to  glance  silently,  first  at  his  daughter, 
and  then  at  the  small,  motionless  figure  upon  the 
bed. 

It  had  rained  early  in  the  night,  and  now  the 
breath  of  the  wet  flowers  down  in  the  garden  was 
fresh  and  cool.  Sidney  went  over  to  the  window, 
and  looked  out  at  the  distant  darkness  of  the  dawn. 
The  silent  night  was  a  hush  of  breathless  expec 
tancy.  The  gray  sky,  the  stars  fading  as  the  east 


348  SIDNEY. 

lifted  and  whitened,  the  misty  outlines  of  sleeping 
houses,  were  all  waiting  ;  and  for  what  ?  Death ! 
She  knelt  down  by  the  window,  resting  her  face 
upon  her  folded  arms.  Alan  was  in  the  next  room. 
What  if  it  were  Alan  lying  there  upon  the  bed, 
without  words,  or  motion,  or  remembrance  ;  Alan 
who  was  waiting  death ;  Alan  who  would  be  — 
nothing?  Down  below,  the  wall  between  the  two 
gardens  began  to  loom  out  of  the  crystal  dark ;  one 
by  one,  as  though  to  some  unheard  call,  the  trees 
shaped  themselves  in  the  mist.  How  strangely  one 
were  night  and  day  ;  how  all  life  grew  out  of  death ! 
Human  existence,  like  an  endless  spiral  touching 
light  and  darkness,  life  and  death,  stretches  into 
eternity  :  a  blossom  falls ;  a  seed  ripens  ;  another 
flower  blows  —  to  die  !  Over  and  over,  the  pastime 
of  eternity  enacts  itself,  and  the  heartbreak  of  the 
world  gathers  into  one  word,  "  Why  ?  "  Yet  with 
the  majesty  of  an  inevitable  certainty  proceeds  the 
universe.  Men's  cries  and  wonders  echo  far  into 
the  past,  and  accompany  the  present ;  yet  all  the 
while  the  perfection  of  detail  never  falters,  —  seed 
time  and  harvest,  night  and  day,  life  and  death. 

A  Lombardy  poplar,  close  to  the  house,  swayed 
and  shivered  in  the  night  wind.  Sidney  felt  rather 
than  saw  that  flying  quiver  of  its  leaves  which  is  a 
voice  made  visible.  Each  smallest  leaf  obeyed  in 
beauty  the  same  law  that  orders  star  systems,  scat 
tered  thick  as  dust  in  the  vast  silences  of  space. 
How  all  things  are  only  one  thing ! 

What  were  those  words  she  had  read  t;>  her  aunt? 


SIDNEY.  349 

"  All  things  work  together  for  good."  What  if  that 
were  true  ?  What  if  one  could  believe  it  not  only 
for  the  leaf  and  star,  but  for  life  and  death  ?  They 
do  work  together,  surely,  —  each  grows  out  of  the 
other ;  but  suppose  it  were  for  good,  suppose  it 
were  with  some  sort  of  purpose  ?  "  Working  to 
gether  for  good  ?  "  They  would  be  part  of  a  plan, 
then ;  there  would  be  a  meaning  somewhere.  It 
would  not  matter  whether  the  meaning  were  under 
stood.  The  good  need  not  be  a  human  good ;  it 
might  be  an  infinite  and  unknowable  good,  one 
which  needed  men's  pain,  nay,  men's  sin  for  its  per 
fection  ;  but  to  think  that  there  was  a  good  some 
where  !  To  feel  that  would  make  up,  perhaps,  for 
grief  and  for  death ;  one's  own  death,  —  yes,  surely, 
a  thousand  times !  "  The  Eternal  God  is  thy 
refuge."  A  purpose,  —  if  there  were  such  a  thing, 
—  seen  or  unseen,  would  be  a  refuge.  But  the  Domi 
nant  Will  which  enacts  forever  its  own  tragedy  is 
caprice,  —  traveling  without  motive,  in  the  circle  of 
eternity  !  Yet  if  it  were  true,  —  just  suppose  it  were 
true,  and  all  things  did  work  together  for  good,  all 
things  did  have  some  purpose  and  meaning,  —  then 
one  could  be  content  to  cease,  just  as  that  star 
dropped  out  of  darkness  into  the  growing  brightness 
behind  the  edge  of  the  world.  But  if  one  loved  the 
star  ?  Would  it  be  enough  that  it  were  swallowed 
up  in  light,  swallowed  up  in  what  was  itself,  if  it 
should  not  dawn  again  ?  Suppose  it  were  Alan  lying 
there,  would  it  be  enough  to  say,  The  Eternal  God 
is  my  refuge  ?  That  is,  there  is  an  Eternal  Mean 
ing  in  it  all  —  if  it  were  Alan? 


350  SIDNEY. 

The  bank  of  mist  in  the  east  melted  into  filmy 
bars ;  they  throbbed  as  though  they  hung  before 
some  beating  heart  of  light ;  the  bushes  in  the  gar 
den  grew  out  of  the  shadows  like  soft  balls  of  dark 
ness,  and  the  Virginia  creeper,  hanging  from  the 
lintel  of  the  window,  showed  in  wavering  streamers 
black  against  the  sky.  Sidney  strained  her  eyes 
down  into  the  gloom  ;  surely,  over  against  the  ever 
green  hedge,  where  the  tall  lilies  stood,  there  was  a 
gleam  of  white  ?  The  garden  was  very  still ;  not  a 
tremor  of  air  stirred  the  motionless  leaves,  or  the 
roses  on  the  lattice  below  the  window ;  a  bird  twit 
tered  in  the  poplar  tree,  and  another  answered  it 
over  by  the  lilies,  and  then  another  and  another. 
There  was  a  wandering  perfume  from  the  white 
trumpets  of  the  petunias  in  Miss  Sally's  border,  and 
then  a  breath  of  the  keen  sweetness  of  mignonette 
brushed  her  cheek,  and  she  seemed  to  hear  Alan's 
voice,  as  she  heard  it  once  before  in  the  fragrance 
of  mignonette  :  "  Do  you  love  me,  Sidney  ?  "  What 
if  it  were  Alan  ? 

Oh,  if  there  were  a  refuge !  But  is  there  any 
thing  that  is  eternal  ?  Endless  desire,  endless  rest 
lessness,  or  call  it  the  pain  of  life,  —  for  is  not  life 
desire  ?  Oh,  weariness  of  longing  which  is  the  ex 
pression  of  the  universe,  which  is  eternal !  And  the 
deepest  longing  is  for  a  meaning.  Conduct  is  not 
everlasting ;  conduct  is  only  expediency,  the  deepest 
and  most  subtile  selfishness ;  her  father  had  shown 
her  that  beyond  a  doubt.  But  expediency  is  neces 
sity,  in  one  way ;  or  call  it  Right.  "  All  things 
work  together."  Is  not  conduct  part  of  all  ? —  con- 


SIDNEY.  351 

duct,  and  the  perception  of  right,  and  the  pain  of 
sin,  and  the  mystery  of  love,  and  that  demand  of  the 
soul  for  Something  which  would  explain  all  things, 
the  Eternal  Meaning  of  all.  To  see  a  meaning 
would  be  to  find  a  refuge  ;  yes,  it  would  be  like  arms 
in  which  one  rested  and  trusted. 

What  is  this  which  beckons  to  the  stars,  or  lifts 
the  sweetness  from  the  flowers  ?  What  is  this  which 
makes  the  thought  of  Alan  flash  into  her  brain  ? 
What  is  it  which  moulds  the  rain  into  a  drop  in  the 
heart  of  that  rose,  and  brings  the  instant  remem 
brance  of  Miss  Sally's  love  of  roses  to  burn  Sidney's 
eyes  with  tears  and  lay  upon  her  heart  the  burden 
of  regret  ?  All  working  together ;  all  one  ;  an  eter 
nal  —  what  ?  Force  ?  All  these  were  force,  and 
force  is  one,  and  "  force  is  the  energy  of  a  cause." 
Who  said  that  ?  Never  mind,  now ;  Sidney  could 
not  stop  for  verification,  with  her  hand  upon  a  fact. 

Like  a  person  walking  in  the  dark,  through  peril 
ous  places,  she  had  touched  something  firm  and  sure  ; 
she  knew  not  what,  but  she  clung  to  it.  If  Miss 
Sally  had  spoken  to  her  at  that  moment,  Sidney 
would  not  have  heard  her. 

After  all,  it  was  this  oneness,  this  cause,  —  her 
father  stopped  at  the  energy,  —  which  people  called 
eternal,  which  they  chose  to  name  God  ;  that  was 
all.  They  might  as  well  have  named  it  anything,  or 
left  it  without  a  name.  It  meant  nothing ;  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  justice  or  pity  behind  phenomena ; 
so  how  could  it  help  her,  how  could  it  comfort  her, 
to  admit  the  unity  of  the  force  which  produces  at 


352  SIDNEY. 

once  pity  and  the  suffering  which  calls  it  forth? 
But  if  there  were  a  Purpose,  a  Meaning,  in  the  ex 
pression  of  this  Force,  —  and  phenomena  is  its  ex 
pression  ?  Ah,  if  ?  Surely  then  we  might  be  con 
tent  not  to  speak  of  it  as  it  affected  humanity ;  we 
might  be  content  to  leave  out  such  definitions  and 
limitations  as  "pity  "and  "justice."  That  it  was 
would  be  enough.  But  why  should  such  a  Meaning 
seem  so  much  to  her  ?  Only  that  her  soul  claimed 
it ;  was  not  this  very  claiming  an  expression  of  it  ? 
Might  not  Death  belong  to  it,  and  life  belong  to  it ; 
would  not  love  be  in  it ;  would  not  all  things  be  It  ? 
If  this  were  so,  then  it  was  the  explanation  and  the 
mystery,  the  certainty  and  the  doubt,  the  meaning  of 
all  things,  the  refuge  and  the  Eternal  God  I 

The  clouds  across  the  east  had  caught  the  light 
upon  their  rippling  gray,  and  turned  to  fire.  It 
seemed  as  though,  far  up  above  the  world,  a  wind 
without  noise  was  blowing  across  flames.  She  turned 
to  look  at  Miss  Sally.  All  was  still;  the  sick 
woman  was  sleeping  in  the  profoundest  quiet. 
"That  is  good  for  her,"  Sidney  thought,  with  a 
strange  reverence  for  her  own  tenderness,  which  was 
not  hers,  except  as  she  was  part  of  the  Eternal 
Meaning,  as  she  was  one  with  her  aunt  herself. 

The  dawn  had  transfigured  Miss  Sally's  face  with 
a  light  which  thrilled  Sidney  like  a  touch  out  of  the 
darkness.  Outside,  the  brightness  in  the  east  wid 
ened  and  spread  until  the  whole  sky  was  a  luminous 
shadow,  which  began  to  flush  and  glow,  and  along  the 
eastern  hills  a  film  of  gold  rose  like  a  mist  across 


SIDNEY.  353 

the  flames.  The  Cause  ;  the  Meaning ;  which  was 
always ;  which  was  strong  ;  which  was  right,  —  at 
least  inevitable.  If  it  were  Alan  going  out  into 
blankness,  that  is  going  back  into  this  mystery,  or 
Cause,  to  be  part  of  it  forever,  as  he  had  been  part 
of  it  always,  but  not  to  be  Alan  always,  would  it 
seem  right?  No,  "right"  was  not  the  word;  she 
could  find  no  word.  But  the  pain  would  be  part  of 
the  mystery,  part  of  the  Eternal  Purpose,  and  so, 
bearable.  Sorrow  worked  together  with  joy  in  the 
Meaning  of  all  things,  and  therefore  could  be  borne. 
But  one  could  not  use  little  words,  little  human 
words  like  "  right "  and  "  justice,"  to  make  it  seem 
worth  while  to  suffer.  Oh,  just  to  rest  upon  a  cer 
tain  Purpose  !  —  that  would  be  enough.  A  Refuge. 
Yes,  yes,  but  what  terror  !  It  did  not  make  life  less 
terrible ;  it  only  filled  it  with  confidence  and  peace. 
It  made  it  worth  living,  if  it  were  lived  struggling 
for  oneness  with  the  Eternal  Purpose,  of  which  sor 
row  was  as  much  a  part  as  joy,  death  as  life. 

Back  over  the  evergreens  there  was  a  rim  of  gold. 
Sidney  held  her  breath  and  looked.  How  quickly, 
how  greatly,  it  grew,  pushed  up  from  the  darkness 
into  the  wide  spaces  of  the  endless  air,  fuller  and 
rounder,  the  whole  generous,  beautiful  soul  of  light ! 
The  birds,  twittering  over  by  the  white  lilies  with 
joyous  expectancy  of  waiting,  fell  into  silence  with 
the  fulfillment  of  desire.  The  Eternal :  for  the 
sun,  for  the  birds,  for  her.  The  Eternal  was  that 
exquisite  pain  of  joy  in  the  beauty  of  the  dawn  ;  it 
was  the  passion  of  desire  for  itself  ;  it  was  the  in 
stinct  of  unselfishness,  the  terror  of  remorse  ;  it  was 


354  SIDNEY. 

her  Refuge.  "  I  don't  know  how,"  she  heart!  her 
self  saying  in  a  sobbing  breath  ;  "  but  that  I  want  a 
Meaning  proves  it,  —  it  is  the  want !  " 

Does  not  the  hunger  of  the  body  declare  that 
there  is  bread  ?  Even  so  the  hunger  of  the  soul  im 
plies  immortal  food!  She  did  not  speak  of  love, 
for  love  was  swallowed  up  in  that  of  which  it  is  only 
one  single  expression. 

Outside,  the  world  was  waking  to  its  old  story  of 
disappointment  and  continual  hope,  but  Sidney, 
standing  in  the  golden  light,  saw  a  new  heaven  and 
a  new  earth.  A  thread  of  smoke  went  up  from  one 
of  the  chimneys  of  the  tenements  beyond  Mrs. 
Paul's  house.  The  salutation  of  the  dawn  smote 
like  a  finger  of  flame  upon  countless  windows,  gray 
a  moment  before,  and  beckoned  men  out  to  their  la 
bor.  The  splendor  of  the  dawn,  the  small  needs  of 
living,  the  swaying  and  murmuring  of  far-off  seas, 
the  flute  in  a  bird's  throat,  the  melting  back  into  It 
all  which  we  call  death,  the  consciousness  of  Itself 
which  we  call  life,  —  all  were  one.  Sidney  looked 
down  at  the  smile  of  her  garden,  and  then  at  the  si 
lent,  smiling  face  upon  the  pillow ;  as  she  did  so, 
her  father  entered.  He  stopped  an  instant  at  Miss 
Sally's  side,  and  touched  her  hand  ;  the  look  upon 
his  face  turned  Sidney  white.  "  Father?  " 

"  My  darling,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  "  she  is 
dead." 

He  would  have  taken  Sidney  in  his  arms,  but  she 
put  her  hands  upon  his  breast  and  breathed  rather 
than  spoke.  "No,  not  dead,  —  there  is  no  death. 
Life  and  death  are  one ;  the  Eternal  Purpose  holds 
us  all,  always.  Father  —  I  have  found  God." 


XXVI. 

SIDNEY  LEE  came  out  from  that  experience  of 
death  and  dawn  with  an  absolute  conviction.  She 
did  not  attempt  to  justify  herself  by  reasons.  She 
knew.  That  was  all,  but  it  was  enough. 

She  had  left  Miss  Sally's  room  with  a  face  which 
shone ;  even  the  grief  which  veiled  it  —  while  yet 
that  silent  Presence  dominated  the  household  —  could 
not  hide  the  solemn  light  in  her  eyes.  Grief  and 
pity  and  regret  moved  across  the  peace  which  she 
had  found,  but  did  not  disturb  it ;  even  as  the  winds, 
engraving  themselves  upon  the  sensitive  sea  in  a 
thousand  intricate  and  flying  paths,  do  not  stir  the 
quiet  of  the  deeps  below. 

With  Sidney,  there  was  perhaps  less  grief  than  re 
gret.  She  was  feeling,  even  in  her  exaltation,  the 
misery  of  the  lost  opportunity;  she  was  realizing 
that  it  is  impossible  to  atone  to  the  dead  for  indiffer 
ence  to  their  small  interests,  carelessness  of  their 
daily  cares,  —  in  a  word,  for  unexpressed  love  ;  that 
such  a  realization  is  always  pain  Sidney  had  never 
known  before.  But  it  was  that  pain,  mingling  with 
her  strange  gladness,  which  brought  into  her  face  a 
new  look,  —  at  once  wistful  anxiety  and  calm  desire. 
Major  Lee  saw  it,  and,  remembering  his  daughter's 
words  on  the  night  when  Miss  Sally  died,  —  "  Fa 
ther,  I  have  found  God,"  —  said  to  himself  that  this 


356  SIDNEY. 

changed  expression  was  part  of  the  same  nervous  ex 
citement.  Sidney  had  come  to  him  that  next  clay, 
and  tried  to  tell  him,  briefly,  what  those  words  had 
meant ;  not  that  she  courted  discussion,  —  only  that, 
with  the  gladness  of  the  woman  of  old,  who,  after 
lighting  her  candle  and  searching  diligently,  called 
in  her  friends  and  neighbors  and  said,  "  Rejoice  with 
me,"  Sidney  desired  to  share  her  certainty.  But  her 
broken  words,  with  no  attempt  at  argument,  indicated 
only  a  physical  condition  to  her  father.  As  soon  as 
this  strain  was  over,  her  common  sense  would  assert 
itself ;  he  was  sorry  and  perhaps  a  little  disappointed, 
—  Sidney  had  been  so  different  from  the  ordinary 
hysterical  young  woman,  but  he  would  let  it  pass ; 
it  was  of  no  importance. 

Even  Mrs.  Paul  noticed  the  change  in  the  girl, 
and  she  was  annoyed  by  it ;  it  made  her  uncomforta 
ble,  as  anything  which  she  did  not  understand  was 
apt  to  do.  "  Poor,  dear  Sally  is  dead  and  buried," 
she  said  to  Katherine,  "  and  crying  won't  bring  her 
back  again.  Sidney  should  look  pleasanter,  or  keep 
her  room.  Red  eyes  belong  to  one's  bed-chamber ; 
they  are  too  personal  to  be  modest.  You  never  see 
me  with  red  eyes." 

"  Because  you  are  too  modest  ?  "  said  Katherine, 
with  great  simplicity.  She  was  sitting  in  the  draw 
ing-room  with  her  prospective  mother-in-law,  behind 
bowed  shutters.  It  was  very  hot ;  all  the  sounds 
which  crept  into  the  shadowy  room  were  hot,  —  the 
droning  of  the  bees  in  the  honeysuckle  around  the 
west  window,  the  rattle  of  heavy  drays  down  in  the 
scorching  street,  and  the  pant  of  a  steam-drill  a  block 
away. 


SIDNEY.  357 

Katherine  looked  white  and  languid,  but  Mrs. 
Paul,  fresh  from  Scarlett's  cool  fingers,  was  alert  and 
comfortable.  Her  thin  black  silk  had  a  frost  of  del- 
icate  lace  about  the  neck  and  wrists,  and  she  swung 
lightly,  back  and  forth  upon  her  arm,  a  green  taffeta 
fan.  On  a  table  by  her  side  was  an  India  china 
bowl  crowded  with  roses,  and  near  it  a  tall  silver 
tumbler  full  of  sangaree,  which  was  so  cold  that  the 
polish  of  the  silver  was  dimmed  with  beaded  mist. 
Katherine  had  declined  the  claret  and  the  fan,  and 
everything,  in  fact,  except  a  little  cushion  in  a  white 
lavender-scented  linen  cover,  which  Scarlett  placed 
behind  her  head. 

"  Still,"  Mrs.  Paul  conceded,  "  I  have  no  objec 
tion  to  your  declining  things,  because  you  don't  an 
noy  me  by  looking  uncomfortable.  Poor  Sally  used 
to  distract  me  by  declining,  —  I  suppose  out  of  some 
foolish  idea  of  politeness,  —  and  then  looking  like  a 
martyr.  Really,  you  know,  Kate,  not  that  I  would 
talk  against  the  dead,  —  I  don't  approve  of  it,  —  but 
poor  Sally  was  very  trying  at  times  ?  " 

"  I  never  found  her  so,"  Katherine  answered.  "  I 
think  it  was  the  instinct  of  unselfishness  which  made 
her  decline  a  pleasure.  Oh,  how  good  she  was !  (It 
is  strange  how  quickly  we  learn  to  say  '  was  '  instead 
of  4isM") 

"  Of  course  she  was  good,"  returned  Mrs.  Paul. 
"I  never  said  she  wasn't  good.  But  really,  you 
can't  say  she  was  entertaining.  Now,  I  never  pre 
tended  to  any  remarkable  goodness,  but  I  am  not 
uninteresting,  I  think  ?  " 

"  Oh,   far  from  it,"   said    Katherine.     "  You  are 


358  SIDNEY. 

interesting,  most  interesting.  And  Miss  Sally,  as 
you  say,  was  not ;  but  she  was  good  and  lovable." 

Mrs.  Paul  looked  blank  for  a  moment,  but  Kath- 
erine's  frank  and  confidential  air  reassured  her. 

"  It  was  her  goodness,"  she  announced,  clinking 
the  bits  of  ice  in  the  silver  tumbler,  "  which  made 
your  cousin  propose  to  her.  Katherine,  my  dear, 
the  only  thing  I  don't  like  about  you  is  your  cousin." 

"  Poor  cousin  Robert ! "  said  Katherine  sadly. 
"  Yet  I  am  sure,  I  am  quite  sure,  that  he  did  not 
realize  that  he  was  dishonorable." 

"  He  was  only  dishonorable  because  he  was  a  fool," 
returned  Mrs.  Paul,  with  a  shrug.  "  He  should  have 
made  Sally  break  the  engagement.  A  man  of  the 
world  engaged  to  a  prude  would  easily  have  arranged 
that.  It  was  hard,  though,  that  Sally  should  die. 
It  was  merely  coincidence,  of  course,  but  the  young 
man  gets  the  credit  of  it,  and  people  think  she  died 
of  a  broken  heart.  (As  though  Sally  could  die  of 
a  broken  heart !  Between  ourselves,  my  dear,  a 
good  woman  is  not  capable  of  a  great  passion.  Did 
that  ever  occur  to  you  ?  )  No,  to  my  mind,  your 
Steele  is  unpleasant  rather  than  dishonorable,  — 
most  unpleasant.  And  what  do  you  think  I  heard 
yesterday  ?  That  the  very  day  of  the  funeral  he  was 
found  in  his  hotel  drunk  !  Now,  I  am  not  a  temper 
ance  fanatic.  I  have  seen  a  gentleman  overcome 
after  a  dinner,  for  instance,  and  thought  none  the 
worse  of  him  ;  but  —  after  a  funeral !  Really,  the 
occasion  should  be  considered." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Katherine,  the  tears  starting  to  her 
eyes. 


SIDNEY.  359 

"  He  is  a  mass  of  inconsistencies,"  Mrs.  Paul  con 
tinued,  tapping  her  fan  thoughtfully  upon  the  edge 
of  the  table.  "  Some  one  told  me  —  Scarlett,  I  be 
lieve  it  was  —  that  those  last  nights  he  hung  about 
the  house  all  night  long.  He  gave  Scarlett  quite  a 
start,  when  she  came  upon  him  in  the  darkness.  Yes, 
I  have  no  doubt  he  was  unhappy ;  and  yet  —  to  be 
intoxicated!  Did  you  know  Alan  had  taken  him 
back  to  live  with  him  again  ?  Alan  has  not  very 
much  backbone.  Men  with  faces  like  his  have  no 
depth  nor  persistency.  I  only  hope  his  passion  for 
Sidney  will  last." 

"  But  if  she  does  not  return  it,  that  is  hard  upon 
him." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  Alan,"  Mrs.  Paul  an 
swered.  "  I  was  thinking  —  of  Mortimer  Lee  !  " 

Katherine  looked  at  her  with  wondering  interest. 
"  You  really  have  no  heart,  have  you,  Mrs.  Paul?" 
she  said. 

"  My  dear,"  explained  the  older  woman,  "  I  am 
all  heart.  But  I  believe  in  justice.  Mortimer  Lee 
has  been  a  wicked  atheist,  and  he  ought  to  be  pun 
ished.  And  you  know  —  ridiculous  as  it  is  —  what 
it  would  be  to  him  if  Sidney  fell  in  love  with  any 
one.  But  of  course  my  chief  desire  is  to  benefit 
Sidney.  It  has  always  been  my  habit  to  try  to  help 
others.  Lord  !  how  annoyed  I  was  that  your  cousin 
did  not  fall  in  love  with  Sidney!  I  could  forgive 
his  conduct  about  his  mother's  money  and  the  break 
ing  of  his  engagement,  but  —  to  propose  to  Sally ! 
I  can  forgive  wickedness  ;  but  that  was  worse  than 
wickedness,  —  it  was  stupidity.'' 


360  SIDNEY. 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  matter  of  imagination,"  Kath- 
erine  observed.  "  We  can  forgive  a  condition  which 
we  can  imagine  for  ourselves ;  but  what  we  can't 
fancy  ourselves  capable  of,  we  despise." 

"  Exactly ;  you  have  a  great  deal  of  sense,  Kate. 
Now,  I  could  not  be  a  fool." 

"No,  indeed,"  Katherine  assured  her,  warmly. 
"  But  what  an  inference  you  make  one  draw !  " 

"  Very  true !  "  cried  the  other,  in  high  good  hu 
mor.  She  was  distinctly  flattered,  and  loved  Kath 
erine  more  than  ever.  "  As  for  Sidney  and  Alan," 
she  continued,  "  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken, 
—  and  I  never  am  mistaken  in  such  matters ;  I  've 
lived  myself,  —  Sidney  has  come  to  her  senses  at 
last,  and  Mortimer  Lee  is  to  learn  a  lesson." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  Sidney  is  in  love  with  Alan.  Such 
a  change  does  not  come  into  a  woman's  face  as  has 
come  into  hers,  for  nothing." 

"  Mrs.  Paul,"  said  Katherine,  sitting  up  and  look 
ing  at  her  with  sudden  attention,  "  there  is  a  change, 
but "  - 

"Well?"  demanded  Mrs.  Paul.  "Don't  grow 
commonplace,  Kate,  and  hesitate  over  a  sentence." 

"  It  is  not  because  of  Dr.  Crossan,  —  I  am  sure  of 
that.  It  is  because  (yes,  I  don't  see  why  I  should 
not  speak  of  it.  Sidney  told  me,  and  I  think  she 
would  be  glad  to  have  it  known),  —  it  is  because 
Sidney  is  not  what  she  was." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Paul. 

"  I  think  the  change  in  her  face  is  from  some 
deeper  reason  than  that  she  has  fallen  in  love.  (If 


SIDNEY.  361 

she  has,  which  does  n't  seem  to  me  probable.)  But 
she  told  me  —  that  she  believed." 

"  Believed  ?  "  repeated  the  other,  frowning.  "  Be 
lieved  what?" 

"  She  said  she  had  '  found  God.' '  Katherine 
lowered  her  voice.  "  I  tell  you  only  because  I  am 
sure  that  as  we  all  knew  what  her  old  thought  was, 
she  would  wish  us  to  know  her  new  thought." 

"  What !  "  cried  Mrs.  Paul.  "  Sidney  says  she  's 
'  found  God '  ?  (though  I  am  sure  I  think  the  ex 
pression  very  irreverent.  I  suppose  she  means  she 's 
been  converted  ?)  Lord  !  what  does  Mortimer  Lee 
say  ?  Well,  I  am  glad !  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Paul!  "  said  Katherine,  shocked  into 
remonstrance. 

"But  how  has  it  come  about?"  persisted  the 
older  woman.  "  Has  Mr.  Brown  seen  her  ?  I  did  n't 
suppose  Sidney  had  been  to  church  for  years."  She 
paused,  lifting  in  her  delicate  old  hand  a  little  silver 
vinaigrette,  made  like  a  fish,  with  glittering  scales, 
and  curiously  flexible.  Her  face  was  full  of  the 
keenest  interest  and  pleasure.  "  Mr.  Brown  was 
never  allowed  to  try  to  convert  her,  you  know. 
Well,  I  am  very  thankful,  of  course.  It  has  always 
been  a  grief  to  me  to  have  Sidney  out  of  the  Church. 
She  was  never  even  baptized,  —  did  you  know  that  ? 
I  expected  to  be  her  godmother ;  but  Mortimer  Lee 
woiild  not  have  the  child  christened.  Shocking, 
wasn't  it?" 

"  How  careful  you  are  of  your  creed !  "  commented 
Katherine,  with  delightful  deference  ;  "  and  yet  I 
notice  you  do  not  often  intrude  your  religion  ?  " 


362  SIDNEY. 

"  I  hope  not,  indeed  !  Conversation  about  reli 
gion  leads  to  horrible  self-consciousness  ;  and  thank 
Heaven,  I  never  had  any  need  to  talk  about  my 
spiritual  condition.  I  never  had  a  doubt  in  my 
life." 

"  You  mastered  the  eternal  verities  with  your  cat 
echism,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Katherine. 

But  Mrs.  Paul  did  not  notice  the  remark.  "  As 
for  Sidney,  with  her  antecedents  her  unbelief  did 
not  reflect  upon  her  socially,  although  it  was  unbe 
coming,  —  most  unbecoming.  I  'm  sure  I  'm  re 
joiced  that  she  has  come  to  her  senses.  I  suppose 
she  '11  be  confirmed  at  Easter?  " 

Katherine  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  know,  but 
think  not.  I  spoke  of  it,  but  she  looked  at  me  in 
the  blankest  way ;  and  when  I  said  something  about 
seeing  Miss  Sally  again,  you  know,  and  all  that,  she 
apparently  did  n't  understand  for  a  moment,  and 
then  she  said,  '  That  expression  of  the  Eternal  is 
gone,  but  lie  remains/  I  don't  know  what  she 
meant,"  proceeded  Katherine  doubtfully.  "  I  asked 
her  if  she  did  not  believe  in  immortality,  and  she 
said  she  did  not  know  anything  about  it,  but  '  God 
w,as.'  " 

"  She  does  n't  know  what  she  is  talking  about !  " 
cried  Mrs.  Paul  impatiently. 

"  At  least  she  is  convinced,"  Katherine  answered. 

"  Convinced  !  "  returned  the  other.  "  My  dear 
Kate,  anything  so  positive  as  a  conviction  is  scarcely 
modest  in  a  well-bred  young  woman.  And  there  is 
too  much  talk  about  convictions  in  these  days,  and 
too  little  good  behavior.  Sidney  should  have  been 


SIDNEY.  363 

confirmed  ten  years  ago,  with  convictions  or  without 
them,  if  I  had  had  my  way." 

"  I  wonder  if  her  —  change  of  opinion  will  make 
any  difference  in  Major  Lee  ?  "  Katherine  asked. 

"  Certainly  not.  The  day  when  the  infant  con 
verts  his  grandfather  is  past,  my  friend ;  and  as  for 
saying  she  believes,  but  not  in  immortality,  and  that 
she  won't  be  confirmed,  —  I  never  heard  such  non 
sense  !  Eeally,  Kate,  I  wouldn't  encourage  her  to 
talk  in  that  way;  it  is  quite  improper.  I  hoped, 
when  you  first  spoke,  that  she  had  become  —  well 
—  you  know  what  I  mean  —  a  change  of  heart,  you 
know  —  a  Church  woman." 

Katherine  did  not  pursue  the  subject ;  she  had 
been  awed  by  Sidney's  uplifted  look,  and  she  had 
vaguely  understood  it ;  but  as  she  tried  to  explain  it 
the  idea  melted  away. 

Sidney  had  chosen  to  name  u  God"  that  tireless, 
eternal  activity  which  constitutes  the  universe  ;  that 
energy  which  is  in  all  and  through  all,  pulsing  in 
every  atom,  recognizing  itself  in  the  conscious  in 
stant  of  a  man's  life,  creating  and  destroying,  work 
ing  towards  its  own  infinite  end.  With  this  naming 
(or  let  us  say  this  perception),  and  the  devout  sub 
mission  to  and  trust  in  the  laws  of  nature  which  it 
implies,  there  had  come  to  her,  not  happiness,  but 
blessedness,  and  that  peace  which,  truly,  the  world 
can  neither  give  nor  take  away.  But  the  process 
by  which  she  had  reached  peace  must  be  personal 
before  it  can  commend  itself  to  the  understanding, 
and  for  that  reason  she  could  not  show  it  to  Katherine. 

In  a  direct  and  simple  way,  Katherine   felt  that 


364  SIDNEY. 

Sidney  would  wish  that  others  might  know  her  pres 
ent  attitude,  and  so  told  Mrs.  Paul,  whose  absolute 
inability  to  understand  the  situation  made  her  un 
certain  as  to  her  own  grasp  of  it.  She  did  not  want 
to  speak  of  it  any  further,  and  she  was  glad  that  at 
that  moment  Sidney  entered  ;  not  that  she  meant  to 
question  the  girl,  but  she  wanted  to  watch  her. 

Mrs.  Paul  looked  up  impatiently.  Sidney,  in  her 
black  gown,  her  face  marked  by  some  deeper  pain 
and  meaning  than  merely  grief  for  Miss  Sally's 
death,  confused  and  annoyed  the  older  woman ;  be 
side,  with  that  curious  vanity  which  leads  one  to  con 
fess  a  fault,  she  had  been  just  about  to  tell  Kate  a 
story  —  Lord  I  why  could  not  Sidney  have  stayed 
at  home  ?  Innocence  is  a  great  nuisance  at  times. 

"  Well  ?  What  ?  Dear  me,  Sidney,  the  heat  has 
made  you  white ;  pray  go  and  ask  Scarlett  for  some 
rose-water,  and  bathe  your  face.  It  is  very  un 
pleasant  to  see  any  one  look  fagged." 

"  I  came  over,"  Sidney  answered,  with  an  absent 
air,  which  did  not  acknowledge  the  fault-finding, 
"  to  ask  you  —  I  was  putting  away  her  things,  and 
I  thought  you  might  like  something  which  belonged 
to  her  —  and  I  came  to  ask  you  if  you  would  care  to 
have  this  piece  of  lace  ?  " 

"  Do  sit  down,  and  don't  look  so  white.  Lace  ? 
Let  me  see  it.  Yes,  I  '11  take  it ;  but  I  am  sure  I 
don't  see  why  in  the  world  you  should  bring  me  lace. 
I  have  more  now  than  I  know  what  to  do  with.  I 
mean  to  give  Katherine  some  superb  lace  when  she 
is  married.  Do  you  hear  that,  Kate  ?  " 

Katherine  was  looking  anxiously  at  Sidney.     "  My 


SIDNEY.  365 

dear,"  she  said  gently,  "  you  really  are  worn  out ; 
you  should  not  have  crossed  the  garden  in  this  blazing 
sun.  I  shall  have  to  ask  Dr.  Crossan  about  you." 

In  an  instant  Sidney's  face  flushed  to  the  fore 
head.  Katherine  smiled  and  glanced  at  Mrs.  Paul, 
who  asked,  "  Does  Alan  still  call  every  day  ?  Really, 
poor,  dear  Sally's  sickness  was  an  opportunity  for 
Alan !  I  saw  him  yesterday,"  she  continued,  swing 
ing  her  fan  lazily.  "  He  is  looking  shockingly.  I 
don't  believe  he  will  live  long."  Katherine  gave  her 
a  warning  look,  but  Mrs  Paul  ended  her  sentence. 
"  He  is  really  ill,  you  know." 

Sidney  drew  a  quivering  breath;  her  eyes  dimmed 
with  a  flying  terror.  "  Is  Alan  going  to  die  ?  " 

"  Well,  some  time,  I  suppose,"  returned  Mrs.  Paul. 
("  You  see,  Kate  ?  I  said  so  !  ") 

u  Is  he  ?  "  Sidney  repeated,  standing  before  Mrs. 
Paul,  and  trembling  very  much. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  Sidney,  don't  glare  so  !  No,  of  course 
not.  But  he  was  ill  a  little  while  ago,  you  remem 
ber  ;  and  poor  Sally  told  me  that  Mr.  Steele  had 
told  her  —  Bat  what  is  it  to  you,  my  dear  ?  " 

Sidney  did  not  answer.  She  scarcely  heard  Mrs. 
Paul  say,  in  a  perfunctory  manner,  that  Katherine 
had  told  her  something  she  was  very  glad  to  hear, 
and  she  hoped  Sidney  would  try  to  live  a  consistent 
life,  and  be  sensible  about  confirmation  ;  and  then, — 

"  Just  arrange,  will  you,  to  come  in  when  Kath 
erine  isn't  here?  I  don't  need  anybody  else  if  she 
is  here.  Oh,  and  give  the  lace  to  Scarlett,  will 
you  ?  " 

Sidney  would  not  let  Katherine  go    home   with 


366  SIDNEY. 

her ;  she  shut  herself  out  of  the  cool  darkness  of  the 
hall,  and  then  went  slowly  back  through  the  blazing 
garden.  She  had  left  that  inevitable  task  of  "  put- 
ing  away  "  to  bring  Mrs.  Paul  the  piece  of  lace,  but 
she  forgot  how  much  yet  remained  to.be  done.  Alan 
had  been  ill!  She  walked  over  to  the  evergreen 
circle,  where  the  sun-dial  stood  among  the  shadows, 
and  sat  down  on  the  curved  bench.  It  was  here 
Alan  had  told  her  that  she  needed  love  in  her  life,  — 
it  seemed  to  Sidney  that  her  life  dated  from  that 
day  ;  then,  afterwards,  he  had  said  he  loved  her,  and 
she  had  declared  that  she  did  not,  and  never  would, 
love  him.  "  Oh,  but  I  do,"  jshe  said  quietly,  aloud. 
"  I  do."  She  looked  up  between  the  dark  points  of 
the  firs  into  the  cloudless  and  dazzling  sky;  her 
eyes  overflowed  with  tears,  but  her  lips  smiled. 

She  forgot  everything  but  joy.  She  was  as  en 
tirely  glad  as  the  soul  can  be  which  has  one  moment 
without  memory.  She  put  out  her  hands  as  though 
to  meet  the  hands  she  loved ;  her  face  was  wet  with 
tears,  but  it  was  illumined.  Suddenly  it  changed. 
Love  ?  No,  she  must  not  love  him.  Her  heart  was 
bounding,  her  lips  breaking  into  smiles,  her  joy  over 
flowing  in  words,  when  this  old  habit  of  thought  as 
serted  itself.  With  it  came  the  memory  of  that 
experience  of  dawn  and  death ;  the  strange  unreason 
ing  conviction,  the  solemn  instinct,  that  her  life  was 
to  be  an  expression  of  the  Eternal  Life.  Yes,  that 
was  all  true,  all  true ;  and  she  would  be  good ;  and 
it  was  well  to  be  alive,  though  she  did  not  know  why. 
She  would  do  her  work  ;  she  would  tiy  to  help  any 
one  who  needed  her,  —  but  she  would  not  know  sor. 


SIDNEY.  367 

row ;  why  need  she  ?  She  could  do  her  part  in  the 
world  as  well,  and  better,  unhampered  by  the  hor 
rible  fear  of  death ;  she  would  not  love  Alan.  Yet 
inescapable  joy  shone  in  her  eyes;  she  only  knew 
that  she  loved,  while,  mechanically,  she  asserted  that 
she  would  escape  from  love.  The  long  z-z-ing  of  in 
sects  stabbed  the  silence  of  noon ;  the  hot  scent  of 
flowers  wandered  in  among  the  shadows ;  and  on  the 
old  sun-dial  a  bird  perched,  and  plumed  itself,  look 
ing  at  her  with  fearless  interest. 

In  a  numb,  helpless  way  Sidney  was  struggling  to 
be  obedient  to  the  heavenly  vision,  and  yet  to  save 
herself.  At  last  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  in 
capable  of  meeting  this  crisis,  and,  with  that  power 
which  comes  at  rare  moments  into  every  life,  she  put 
aside  the  truth  which  had  been  revealed  to  her,  and 
took  up  again  the  small  details  of  death  and  life. 
"  I  will  finish  putting  the  things  away,  and  then  I 
will  think,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  went  into  the  house,  so  intent  upon  thrusting 
this  new  greatness  aside,  until  she  could  find  an  hour 
which  should  be  all  its  own,  that  she  was  really  only 
aware  of  the  work  she  at  once  began  to  do ;  she  did 
not  think  of  Alan.  Her  eyes  blurred  again  and 
again  as  she  folded  Miss  Sally's  little  wardrobe 
away:  the  pathos  of  the  small  darns,  of  carefully 
brushed,  and  turned,  and  turned  again  gowns,  of 
bits  of  ribbon,  and  treasured  pieces  of  lace,  struck 
upon  Sidney's  heart  with  a  pain  which  was  part  of 
her  new  experience  of  life.  "  Oh,  if  I  had  only  been 
kinder  ! "  she  said  over  and  over  to  herself. 

If  we  could  but  take  our  possessions  with  us  when 


358  SIDNEY. 

we  leave  this  world,  life  would  be  less  terrible  to 
those  who  love  us,  whom  we  leave.  The  many  small 
things,  which  are  so  useless  to  every  one  except  the 
owner,  suddenly  become  sacred.  They  cannot  be 
destroyed ;  to  give  them  away  is  a  confession  that 
they  are  cumbersome,  and  is  another  unkindness  to 
the  dead.  This  thought  came  to  Sidney,  on  her 
knees  before  the  lower  drawer  of  Miss  Sally's 
bureau.  Of  what  use  to  any  one  was  the  little  ugly 
mosaic  pin  ?  But  Miss  Sally's  fingers  had  touched 
it ;  it  was  her  pride  and  joy ;  it  must  be  kept.  The 
black  silk  aprons  which  Sidney  had  always  disliked, 
the  small  bags  of  rose  leaves  which  would  so  soon 
crumble  into  dust,  —  none  of  these  could  be  thrown 
away.  The  collection  grew  as  the  girl's  tenderness 
and  remorse  grew.  There  was  a  little  faded  pin 
cushion,  which  with  a  pang  she  recognized  as  one  of 
her  youthful  gifts  to  her  aunt,  which  Miss  Sally  had 
cherished  through  Sidney's  indifferent  years.  There 
were  daguerreotypes  ;  and  some  photographs  of  Sid 
ney,  on  which  were  written,  "  My  darling  Sidney," 
and  "  Dear  little  Sidney,"  and  the  child's  age.  One 
thin,  square  book  gave  her  a  shock  of  memory,  as 
she  unfolded  the  white  paper  in  which  it  was  wrapped, 
and  saw  the  familiar  gilt  cherubs  on  the  brown  cover 
of  "  Reading  without  Tears."  Sidney  sat  down  on 
the  floor,  and  leaned  her  head  against  the  old  dress 
ing-case,  with  the  book  open  in  her  lap.  How  it  all 
came  back  to  her !  —  the  time  when  she  learned  her 
letters  standing  at  Miss  Sally's  knee,  while  her 
aunt's  gentle  voice  alternately  implored  and  en* 
couraged  her,  as  might  be  the  condition  of  Sidney's 


SIDNEY.  369 

temper.  Never  out  of  patience,  never  unjust,  what 
matter  if  sometimes  unwise?  "  Oh,  if  I  had  only 
been  kinder  !  "  she  sobbed.  It  was  not  reading  with 
out  tears  now.  And  so  the  book  was  added  to  the 
"  things  to  be  kept ;  "  memory  of  that  old  tender 
ness  made  it  sacred.  Almost  all  these  forlorn  little 
treasures  were  connected  with  Sidney  or  her  father, 
in  some  way,  and  so  made  the  sting  of  her  remorse 
sharper. 

These  voiceless  possessions  of  Miss  Sally's  raised 
such  an  outcry  of  regret  and  self-abasement  in  Sid 
ney's  mind  that,  at  last,  she  could  not  bear  it,  and 
rose,  the  pathetic  task  still  unfinished.  Her  con 
science  clamored  that  she  must  do  some  kind  act. 
Miss  Sally's  poor  seemed  to  entreat  her,  and  it  was 
to  them  she  fled  :  down,  in  the  fading  afternoon,  to 
one  miserable  tenement  after  another ;  then  coming 
shuddering  back  again.  "  No,  it  is  all  too  awful ! 
Oh,  I  cannot  live!  I  cannot  bear  it.  It  is  not 
enough  to  know  that  there  is  a  Meaning,  and  I  will 
not  love  Alan." 


XXVII. 

THE  blue  July  day  grew  sullen  with  heat  towards 
evening,  and  the  skies  blackened  along  the  west. 
There  was  no  wind,  but  the  trees  shivered.  That 
night  the  major's  tea-table  was  very  quiet ;  Sidney 
could  not  talk,  and  her  father  desired  only  to  listen. 
He  knew  that  she  was  troubled,  and  longed  for 
deeper  understanding  of  her  pain,  but  he  asked  no 
questions ;  he  waited  for  her  to  know  that  she 
needed  him  before  he  should  try  to  help  her.  Un 
less,  indeed,  she  did  not  need  him?  The  remem 
brance  of  that  hysterical  experience  might  now  be 
only  a  painful  mortification,  and  she  would  prefer 
that  they  should  both  forget  it. 

But  as  they  sat  at  tea,  in  the  half  darkness  of  the 
long,  octagonal  room,  —  it  was  too  hot  for  lights,  — 
he  was  aware  of  a  hopeless  depression  in  her  face 
that  filled  him  with  an  aching  pity.  "  If  Sarah  had 
not  dieil ! "  he  said  to  himself.  The  major  had 
never  recognized  his  affection  for  his  sister  until  she 
was  dead ;  but  it  was  not  of  his  own  loss  that  he 
thought,  as  he  saw  Sidney's  pain.  He  was  almost 
angry  at  Miss  Sally  because  she  had  died,  and  so 
his  darling  suffered.  He  spoke  only  of  common 
place  things,  however:  of  the  mutter  of  thunder, 
retreating  and  retreating,  in  the  west ;  of  the  heavy 
sweetness  of  the  white  phlox  beneath  the  window; 
or  some  query  concerning  Katherine  and  John. 


SIDNEY.  371 

Sidney  scarcely  heard  him ;  the  tumult  in  her 
mind  shut  out  everything  else;  it  seemed  to  her 
almost  as  though  her  father  must  hear  it,  too.  Once 
she  lifted  her  eyes  and  found  him  looking  at  her 
with  a  face  full  of  troubled  love.  She  started,  and 
smiled.  "  Did  you  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"No,"  he  answered;  and  then,  as  they  rose  to 
leave  the  room,  he  rested  his  hand  for  a  moment 
upon  her  shoulder.  "  Sidney,  what  is  it  ?  " 

She  put  her  hands  up  to  her  face.  "  Oh,"  she 
said  sharply,  "  I  do  not  know  —  I  thought  I  knew 
—  and  yet  —  and  yet "  — 

"Yes?"  the  major  queried,  in  a  mild  voice.  He 
was  already  less  anxious ;  she  was  going  to  tell 
him,  and  it  was  inconceivable  to  him  that  his  child 
could  have  any  trouble  that  he  could  not  lighten. 
He  already  saw  himself  explaining  that  of  course  he 
had  attached  no  meaning  to  those  confused  words  of 
hers,  and  she  must  not  feel  the  slightest  embarrass 
ment  ;  that  such  a  nervous  condition  was  most  nat 
ural  under  the  circumstances.  The  major  readily 
appreciated  that  she  suffered  as  she  remembered  her 
foolish  excitement.  The  patience  and  sweetness  in 
his  worn  old  face  made  the  tears  spring  to  Sidney's 
eyes.  "  Oh,  I  have  not  even  thought  of  him  !  He 
wants  to  help  me,  and  I  have  shut  him  out  for  fear 
he  would  not  understand." 

44 1  cannot  seem  to  make  it  right,"  she  said ; 
44  what  shall  I  do?"  They  had  come  into  the  li 
brary,  and  the  major,  sitting  down  in  his  big  leather 
chair,  still  kept  her  hand  in  his. 

44  Make  what  right?  "  he  asked. 


372  SIDNEY. 

"  That  there  should  be  suffering,"  she  answered, 
with  a  cry  in  her  voice.  She  dropped  her  head 
upon  her  father's  knee,  and  he  felt  her  tears  against 
his  hand.  "  I  thought  God  was  enough  ;  but  when 
I  see  pain,  when  I  feel  it,  myself,  then  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  Meaning  must  be  understood  before  the 
pain  can  be  borne  ;  and  yet  a  Meaning  ought  to  be 
enough." 

"  Sidney,"  he  said,  "  my  darling,  I  had  not  meant 
to  refer  to  this  ;  I  hoped  that  you  were  better,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  the  expression.  Surely,  you  are  not 
serious  in  speaking  as  though  this  were  a  reasonable 
subject  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  head,  but  still  knelt  beside  him, 
looking  at  him.  with  miserable  eyes.  "It  is  the  only 
subject  there  is,  it  seems  to  me ;  there  is  nothing 
but  the  Eternal.  Suffering  and  death  are  part  of 
it ;  only  —  only  I  do  not  want  pain,  father  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Major  Lee  was  too  amazed  for 
words ;  then  he  said  gently,  "  Let  me  understand 
you.  I  fear  I  have  not  followed  you  intelligently, 
—  the  fault  is  mine.  But  do  I  understand  that  you 
have  "  —  he  stopped  and  smiled  —  "  have  become  a 
Christian  ? "  He  was  troubled  at  the  condition 
which  this  conversation  indicated,  but  he  was 
amused.  He  wondered  if  it  were  worth  while  to 
treat  it  seriously. 

"  A  Christian  ? "  the  girl  repeated  vaguely. 
"  Oh,  no,  I  am  not  that.  That  means  to  believe 
that  Christ  is  —  God  ?  "  She  paused  ;  then  she 
added,  eagerly,  "Except  as  God  is  in  all  things, 
in  every  one ;  in  Him  preeminently.  And,  father, 


SIDNEY.  373 

He  felt  that  it  was  worth  while  to  suffer,  to  lend 
His  life  to  the  End." 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  be  more  clear,"  the  major 
said.  "  I  still  do  not  follow  you  ?  " 

Sidney  had  risen,  and  was  sitting  near  him  ;  she 
had  an  open  fan  in  her  hand,  and  in  the  dusk  it 
looked  like  a  great  white  moth  swaying  upon  a 
flower.  Her  face  had  grown  clearer  as  she  spoke, 
but  her  voice  was  unsteady.  "  Oh,  it  is  not  that  my 
truth  is  not  true,  and  that  it  is  not  enough  ;  it  is  only 
that  I  do  not  want  to  suffer.  But,"  she  ended  with 
a  hopeless  sigh,  "  that  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  I 
do  not  want  to  do  my  part !  " 

"You  will  have  to  explain  what  you  mean,  Sid 
ney,"  said  her  father  patiently.  "  What  is  enough  ?  " 

"The  —  the  Meaning,"  she  answered,  almost  in  a 
whisper.  "  Eternal,  I  call  it  to  myself." 

The  major  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  and  looked 
at  her.  "If  you  were  quite  strong,  my  darling, 
instead  of  being  worn  out  by  your  aunt's  illness,  it 
would  be  worth  while  to  discuss  this  with  you ;  but, 
for  the  present,  had  we  not  better  put  it  aside  ?  " 

"No,"  she  entreated,  "oh,  no,  let  me  tell  you 
about  it  now ; "  and  then  began  to  speak  with  the 
deliberation  of  one  who  fears  to  lose  the  thread  of 
his  discourse,  as,  step  by  step,  he  advances  along 
some  intricate  path  of  argument.  She  did  not  even 
look  at  her  father;  she  pressed  her  lips  together 
once  or  twice  as  she  proceeded,  as  though  to  insist 
upon  calmness.  It  had  been  so  real  to  her,  that 
one  great  moment  of  her  life,  that  she  could  not 
understand,  as  she  tried  to  tell  the  story  of  Miss 


374  SIDNEY. 

Sally's  death  and  the  beginning  of  her  own  life, 
how  impossible  it  is  to  bound  an  experience  by 
words,  or  by  an  explanation  define  the  unutterable 
God.  Once  the  major  made  an  impatient  move 
ment,  and  said  something  under  his  breath,  but  she 
did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

"  And  so,"  she  ended,  "  the  Meaning  in  the  uni 
verse  is  the  Refuge,  —  is  what  aunt  Sally  called 
God  ;  and  oneness  with  that,  it  seems  to  me,  makes 
life  bearable,  —  and  it  ought  to  make  it  beautiful." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  the  major. 

"Yes." 

He  looked  at  her  with  puzzled  tenderness  ;  he 
was  so  grieved  that  she  should  suffer,  so  anxious 
because  of  her  white  face,  so  incapable  of  treating 
her  convictions  seriously  or  entering  into  an  argu 
ment  upon  this  fantastic  idea  which  she  chose  to 
regard  as  the  solution  of  life,  that  he  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  It  occurred  to  him  to  beg  her  to  go 
and  rest,  and  yet  he  would  not  hurt  her  by  dismiss 
ing  her  convictions  lightly. 

"Your  proposition,"  he  began  with  the  gentlest 
courtesy,  "is  of  course  gained  without  the  assistance 
of  reason.  And  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  I 
am  sure  your  calmer  thought  will  show  you  its  inad 
equacy."  Sidney  did  not  answer.  "  And  its  .inev 
itable  conclusion  :  you  now  call  the  universe  God, 
just  as  one  creates  a  name  for  a  hitherto  unappre- 
hended  fact ;  but  you  might  as  well  have  called  it 
Devil.  You  invest  it  with  no  personality,  I  observe, 
but  you  regard  it  with  that  poetic  fervor  which  is,  I 
am  inclined  to  think,  a  phase  of  intellectual  growth 


SIDNEY.  375 

that  expresses  itself  in  art,  or  religion,  or  love.  Do 
you  mean"  —  he  smiled,  with  tender  amusement  — 
"  do  you  mean  to  have  a  garland  of  roses  and  a  goat 
with  gilded  horns,  and  to  sing  hymns  to  the  great 
god  Pan  ?  For  you  see  just  what  you  have  evolved, 

—  pantheism." 

She  tried  to  say  that  her  conviction  was  without 
a  name ;  that  terms,  it  seemed  to  her,  were  limita 
tions. 

"  If  I  were  not  assured  of  your  intelligence,"  her 
father  said,  "I  should  fear  lest  you  might  go  a  step 
further,  and  say  that  this  4  Meaning '  was  good,  and 
that  it  was  Love  "  ("  Love  is  God,"  Sidney  said, 
under  her  breath),  "  and  then  all  the  rest  of  it," 
proceeded  the  major  lightly,  but  with  that  sweet  con 
cern  for  her  in  his  voice  that  would  spare  her  the 
pang  of  mortification,  —  "  the  coming  down  to  the 
earth,  the  vicarious  atonement,  heaven,  hell,  even 
prayer,  perhaps." 

Sidney  leaned  forward,  resting  her  cheek  in  her 
hand.  "  Why  not  prayer  ?  "  she  said  slowly.  "  That 
impulse  is  the  Eternal.  Is  not  prayer  just  claiming 
one's  self,  in  a  way  ?  Oh,  father,  everything  is  of 
Him."  She  was  so  absorbed  that,  for  the  first  time, 
her  father  felt  a  thrill  of  anxiety.  "  But  to  call  the 
Eternal  good,"  she  went  on,  "  why,  it  seems  to  me  it 
would  be  almost  presumption !  or  to  say  that  I  love 

—  It.    But  still  —  good  ?    Yes,  I  suppose  so,  if  that 
means   the    process   by  which  an  end  is  attained. 
What  the  end  may  be  we  may  not  know ;  but  that 
there  is  an  end,  a  meaning,  is  enough." 

"  So,  then,"  questioned  the  major,  "  you  construe 


376  SIDNEY. 

that  sin,  misery,  —  in  a  word,  life,  —  is  for  your 
good  ?  " 

"  My  good  ?  Oh,  no,  not  mine  ;  only  they  must 
be  for  good,  in  some  way.  I  don't  think  it  need 
make  any  difference  to  us  what  the  good  is,  do  you  ? 
See,  father,  the  clay  in  the  brickyard  :  it  is  pounded, 
and  burned,  and  made  into  bricks,  and  houses  are 
built  and  streets  paved.  Well,  that  is  good,  is  n't 
it?  Not  the  clay's  good,  —  but  what  of  that? 
There  is  a  reason  why  the  clay  should  be  tortured, 
and  if  it  could  only  just  dimly  know  that  there  was 
a  cause  for  its  pain,  it  would  be  content ;  yes,  and 
do  its  part.  Well,  I  've  seen  that  there  is  a  mean 
ing,  for  us.  I  don't  know  what,  but  that  does  not 
matter." 

Major  Lee  looked  at  his  daughter,  in  silence. 
Was  this  the  result  of  twenty-four  years'  training  to 
exact  thought,  —  the  poetical  fancy  of  a  tired  girl ! 

"  Yes,"  Sidney  proceeded,  "  life  is  worth  while 
when  one  sees  that  the  Eternal  Purpose  is  a  refuge ! 
Do  you  remember  that  little  church  we  saw  the 
summer  we  went  to  the  seashore,  made  of  stones 
from  the  beach,  —  stones  covered  with  barnacles  ? 
Well,  the  barnacles  were  killed,  but  the  church  was 
built.  Oh,  father,  life  is  surely  less  hard  to  bear  if 
there  is  a  meaning  in  it !  "  She  rose  as  she  spoke, 
her  face  radiant,  and  with  an  uplifted  look  ia  her 
eyes. 

The  major  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  drew  her 
down  beside  him.  "  Come,  be  your  reasonable  self, 
Sidney  !  My  dear,  I  detect  traces  of  the  Calvinism 
of  your  maternal  grandfather.  You  have  practically 


SIDNEY.  377 

announced  your  willingness  to  be  damned  for  the 
glory  of  God !  But,  seriously,  you  have  nothing 
more  than  you  had  before  ;  you  have  not  even  per 
sonified  the  Unknowable,  as  an  attempt  at  comfort." 

"  No,  I  trust  Him,  —  that  is  all,"  she  answered 
eagerly  ;  "  and  I  don't  say  Unknowable  any  more. 
Unknown,  perhaps,  but,  oh,  in  my  soul  I  know 
God!  It  limits  Him  to  say  Unknowable,  and  have 
we  a  right  to  do  that  ?  One  has  but  to  give  one's 
self  to  the  purpose  of  life,  I  think,  —  so  far  as  one 
can  see  it,  —  and  then,  wait." 

"  For  heaven  ?  "  inquired  the  major.  He  was 
torn  between  derision  and  anxiety,  but  tenderness 
dominated  each. 

"  Waiting  means  trust,  it  seems  to  me,"  she  said 
slowly.  "  No,  I  have  not  thought  we  were  immor 
tal.  Somehow,  that  seems  unimportant,  father. 
But  have  we  any  right  to  dogmatize  either  way? 
It  may  be  so.  We  used  to  say  love  needed  the  illu 
sion  of  immortality  as  an  excuse  for  being.  But  " 
—  she  stopped  —  "  but  the  Eternal  is  enough." 

"  Sidney,"  said  Major  Lee,  "  has  Alan  Crossan 
told  you  that  he  loves  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Well  ?  "  questioned  her  father,  sternly. 

"I  told  him  I  did  not  love  him."  Major  Lee 
breathed  again.  "  But  I  do.  Only  I  —  cannot !  " 

It  must  have  been  eight  o'clock  when  this  talk  of 
theirs  began,  but  it  was  two  in  the  morning  when  Sid 
ney,  without  the  good-night  kiss  which  had  been  hers 
for  all  her  unmothered  years,  left  her  father  and 
went  up  to  her  room.  After  that  acknowledgment 


378  SIDNEY. 

that  she  loved  Alan,  Major  Lee  paused,  as  though 
to  gather  all  his  forces  of  love  and  sympathy  and 
wisdom  to  meet  this  crisis.  That  breathless  "I  — 
cannot !  "  meant  nothing  to  him.  She  loved,  and 
love  is  at  least  as  immortal  as  the  lover.  He  saw 
now,  clearly  enough,  what  had  blinded  Sidney's  rea 
son.  The  theory  of  a  God  was  only  the  first  step  ; 
he  was  confident  that  she  would  follow  it  by  the 
assertion  of  that  belief  in  immortality  with  which 
Love,  venturing  into  the  same  world  with  Death, 
excuses  its  own  existence.  So  he  must  first  demon 
strate  the  folly  of  this  extraordinary  fancy  of  hers, 
which  denied  personality,  but  declared  a  person. 

It  seemed  simple  enough  to  Major  Lee  ;  he  would 
go  over  again  the  old  conclusive  arguments.  He 
knew  perfectly  well  that  the  girl's  knowledge,  which 
was  only  his  knowledge,  could  not  possibly  stand 
against  him.  How  could  she  fence  with  weapons  he 
had  given  her,  which  were  pointed  against  herself  ? 
She  did  not  attempt  to.  Again  and  again  he  stopped, 
courteously,  for  "  her  reasons,"  and  she  responded, 
"  I  do  not  reason,  father ;  I  know."  "  You  feel," 
he  corrected  her.  and  the  anxiety  in  his  voice  seemed 
to  her  contempt.  Once  she  attempted  to  say  that 
one  fact  which,  to  her  mind,  proved  the  morality,  as 
humanity  thought  of  morality,  —  the  morality  of  the 
Eternal  Purpose,  —  was  the  awful  pain  of  remorse 
for  sin.  It  was  in  violation  of  the  Purpose  ;  —  not 
the  palpable  inexpediency ;  something  deeper,  — 
the  thwarted  God !  That  Major  Lee  brushed  this 
assertion  away  with  a  word  produced  not  the  slight 
est  effect. 


SIDNEY.  379 

"  The  Eternal  is  in  us,"  she  said  gently,  but  with 
a  voice  as  determined  as  his  own. 

"  You  play  with  words,  Sidney,"  he  affirmed. 
"  You  have  not  moved  one  whit ;  you  stand  exactly 
where  you  have  always  stood  ;  you  know  —  nothing  ! 
Only  you  wish  to  find  an  excuse  for  choosing  sor 
row,  and  you  declare  yourself  satisfied  with  —  what  ? 
A  Great  Nothing  in  Particular ;  a  universe  which  is 
a  differentiated  God ;  nay,  —  the  attraction  of  gravi 
tation  !  Is  it  not  better,  instead,  to  have  a  noble 
acceptance  of  necessity,  and  silence  ?  And  you  say 
you  love  ?  Let  me  tell  you  what  love  has  made  my 
life."  He  paused,  and  looked  at  her.  "  I  am  as 
tounded  that  this  should  be  necessary ;  that  I,  who 
have  lived  the  folly  of  love  before  your  eyes,  should 
yet  have  to  assert  its  misery  in  words !  " 

His  surprise  was  so  genuine  that  for  a  moment,  in 
the  half  darkness  of  the  room,  they  stared  at  each 
other  like  two  strangers. 

The  wind  twisted  the  flame  of  the  lamp  into  a 
blue  whirl ;  a  moment  later  the  storm  broke,  and 
the  rain  went  trampling  through  the  garden.  The 
silence  in  the  room  could  be  felt.  Then  Mortimer 
Lee  began  to  say  that  love  was  the  curse  of  life,  and 
life  itself  was  only  free  from  misery  in  proportion  as 
it  was  free  from  happiness.  As  Sidney  listened,  she 
lived  over  with  him  his  days  and  months  of  hideous 
anxiety  and  inescapable  dread.  She  saw  that  the 
joy  of  his  marriage  walked  by  the  side  of  fear.  She 
watched  his  fierce  struggle  with  death,  the  hand- 
to-hand  conflict  with  fate,  while  he  held  a  dying 
woman  in  his  arms,  —  a  woman  who  besought  him 


380  SIDNEY. 

not  "  to  let  her  go."  And  then  she  listened  to  his 
life  afterwards,  —  empty,  black,  hopeless  ;  lived  only 
to  teach  her  how  to  live  that  she  might  escape  such 
suffering. 

"  And  now,"  he  ended,  holding  out  trembling  and 
entreating  hands,  "you  tell  me  you  love  Alan  Cros- 
san !  Oh,  child,  if  I  could  only  see  you  dead  in 
stead  I" 

"  I  love  him,"  she  said,  her  breath  coming  as 
though  she  sobbed,  though  her  eyes  were  without 
tears,  "but  I  cannot  bear  it,  father.  Yet  we  are 
wrong,  you  and  I." 

"  No !  "  he  cried,  and  it  seemed  to  Sidney  that  his 
voice  was  suddenly  that  of  an  old,  old  man,  "  we  are 
right ;  and  you  shall  not  love  him,  —  you  shall  not 
suffer!" 

"  You  cannot  save  me  from  myself,"  she  said. 

"  I  will,"  he  answered.  He  put  his  trembling 
hands  on  either  side  of  her  face,  and  looked  at  her 
as  she  had  never  seen  him  look  before.  Then  he 
said  very  gently,  "  Go,  Sidney." 

She  dared  not  intrude  upon  that  look  by  a  word, 
or  by  the  familiar  good-night.  She  turned,  and 
softly  went  away. 


XXVIII. 

WHEN  his  daughter  left  him,  Mortimer  Lee  began 
to  walk  up  and  down  his  library.  Long  after  Sid 
ney  was  faintly  smiling  in  her  sleep  as  her  dreams 
opened  the  doors  of  resolution  and  bade  joy  enter, 
—  even  after  the  lamp  burned  white  in  the  gray  of 
dawn,  —  he  still  kept  pacing  back  and  forth,  think 
ing.  He  did  not  tell  Sidney  the  conclusion  of  his 
deliberations,  when,  in  the  morning,  as  usual,  hang 
ing  upon  his  arm,  she  walked  with  him  to  the  iron 
gate  to  say  good-by ;  there  was  a  conscious  tender 
ness  in  her  manner,  the  major  thought,  which  made 
his  dim  eyes  burn  at  the  very  pity  of  it,  for  her  and 
for  hun.  When  he  left  her,  he  went  at  once  to  Alan 
Crossan's  house. 

There  were  one  or  two  people  waiting  for  the  doc 
tor,  and  the  major  took  his  place  among  them.  His 
white  head  was  bowed  a  little,  and  the  fingers  upon 
his  stick  were  tremulous,  but  that  was  all ;  there 
was  no  anger  in  his  face,  only  the  patient  habit  of 
sorrow.  When  Alan,  opening  the  office  door,  caught 
sight  of  the  old  man,  he  started  with  surprise,  and 
went  to  him  at  once  with  extended  hand.  "  What 
is  it  ?  "  he  said  hastily. 

The  major  looked  at  the  hand,  and  then  at  Alan's 
face.  "  I  wish  to  see  you,"  he  answered. 

Alan  was  confused  and  puzzled.     "  If  you  will 


382  SIDNEY. 

come  into  my  library,"  he  said,  aside,  "  these  people 
can  wait?" 

"  I  will  wait." 

Alan  went  into  his  office,  his  face  tingling.  "  It 
is  about  Sidney,  —  but  why  ?  "  The  wild  thought 
even  occurred  to  him  that  she  had  sent  her  father  to 
say  "  Yes."  His  two  poor  people  were  somewhat 
ruffled,  as  is  the  habit  of  non-paying  patients,  that 
the  doctor  did  not  give  them  the  attention  and  in 
terest  which  they  felt  assured  their  cases  demanded. 
Instead,  he  hurried  them  away,  and  then  begged 
Major  Lee  to  come  into  his  library. 

"  Yery  well,"  the  major  answered,  and  followed 
him  through  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs  to  the  pleas 
ant  room,  with  its  sunshine,  and  chemicals,  and 
stacks  of  music.  There,  when  they  had  seated  them 
selves,  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other  in  a  silence 
which  Alan  was  the  first  to  break.  "  I  was  afraid 
some  one  was  ill,  but  I  hope  I  can  be  of  service  in 
some  other  way  than  by  pills  and  powders."  He 
attempted  to  speak  lightly,  but  it  was  evident  that 
he  was  excited. 

"You  are  very  good,"  returned  the  other,  by 
force  of  habit.  "  I  have  come  to  ask  a  favor, 
namely,  will  you  kindly  refrain  from  coming  to  my 
house  ? "  As  he  spoke  his  voice  began  to  tremble 
with  anger.  Alan,  instantly,  was  calm  and  joyous. 

"  I  am  sure,"  he  said,  "  that  you  would  not  say 
such  a  thing  unless  I  had  offended  you,  and  I  beg 
that  you  will  tell  me  in  what  way  I  have  been  so 
unfortunate  ?  " 

"  I  have  made  no  complaint,  merely  a  request.     If 


SIDNEY.  383 

it  needs  an  explanation,  you  will,  I  think,  find  it  in 
your  own  conscience." 

Alan  felt  his  face  growing  hard  and  impatient. 
"  You  are  displeased  because  I  love  Sidney  ?  " 

"  Pray  be  exact,"  answered  the  major.  "  I  regret 
that  you  love  my  daughter,  but  I  have  no  right  to 
be  displeased  ;  although,  indeed,  had  I  the  time  and 
inclination  for  personal  feeling,  I  might  be  dis 
pleased  that  you  had  told  her  of  your  love.  You 
observe  the  difference  ?  It  is,  however,  unnecessary 
to  discuss  it  further."  He  rose  as  he  spoke  ;  he  was 
an  old  man,  and  the  restraint  and  grief  told  upon 
him.  His  whole  body  was  trembling. 

"  But  you  cannot  leave  me  in  this  way,"  said 
Alan  hotly.  "  I  do  not  admit  for  a  moment  that  it 
was  wrong  to  love  Sidney,  or  to  tell  her  so.  I  will 
not  be  thrust  out  of  your  house,  Major  Lee,  without 
an  explanation,  as  though  I  were  a  rogue !  She  has 
refused  me  :  is  not  that  enough  ?  "  Alan's  hurried 
breath  showed  that  this  agitation  was  not  good  for 
him. 

"  Can  you  not  perceive  that  it  might  be  "  —  Major 
Lee  paused;  he  was  not  used  to  deception  —  "it 
might  be  displeasing  to  my  daughter  to  see  you, 
under  such  circumstances  ?  But  you  admit  nothing 
wrong  ?  Very  possibly,  —  very  possibly.  Yet  when 
your  father  and  I  were  young  men,  Alan,  we  would 
not  have  considered  it  honorable  to  have  endeavored 
to  win  the  regard  of  a  woman  without  the  consent  of 
her  father.  What,  then,  would  have  been  our  opin 
ion  of  a  man  who  won  it  —  who  tried  to  win  it  — 
against  the  known  wishes  of  her  father  ?  "  His  sad 


384  SIDNEY. 

eyes  had  in  them  something  beside  personal  injury ; 
it  was  the  son  of  his  friend  who  had  done  this  thing. 

Alan's  face  flushed,  but  he  was  angry  at  himself 
that  he  should  feel  ashamed.  "  I  cannot  agree  with 
you,  Major  Lee.  And  you  have  no  right  to  suggest 
dishonor.  We  must  not  argue  now  about  the  wis 
dom  of  love ;  of  course  I  know  your  ideas.  But  will 
you  not  grant  that  if  it  were  my  honest  conviction 
that  you  were  wrong  and  all  the  world  was  right, 
that  love  was  good  and  worth  the  cost,  then  I  had  a 
right  to  speak  of  it  to  your  daughter  ?  Granting 
my  conviction,  you  cannot  speak  of  dishonor." 

Mortimer  Lee  hesitated.  "  It  was  not  my  pur 
pose  to  accuse  you  ;  I  merely  wished  to  request  "  — 

"  You  have  accused  me,  however,"  interposed  the 
young  man  quietly. 

"  If  you  insist,"  returned  the  major,  "  upon  pur 
suing  this  subject,  yes,  I  do  consider  such  conduct 
dishonorable.  You  have  no  right  to  decide  upon  my 
views,  unless  you  investigate  them,  which,  if  I  mis 
take  not,  you  are  entirely  incapable  of  doing." 

"  Then  I  am  to  understand,"  said  Alan  slowly, 
"  that  you  make  this  request  because  you  do  not 
consider  me  an  honorable  man  ?  " 

Major  Lee  looked  straight  into  the  stern,  beauti 
ful  eyes.  His  own  were  suddenly  filled  with  en 
treaty.  "  If  you  loved  her,  your  first  thought  would 
be  to  spare  her !  " 

Alan's  indignation  vanished  with  the  confession 
of  those  words,  —  he  forgot  everything  except  that 
Sidney  loved  him,  and  her  father  knew  it ;  and  then 
came  the  tender  desire  to  shield  the  major  from  him- 


SIDNEY.  385 

self,  —  he  must  not  guess  that  his  pretense  at  anger 
had  betrayed  his  fear.  (How  that  look  in  his  face 
brushed  the  years  aside,  and  showed  Sidney's  en. 
treating  and  disdaining  eyes!)  As  that  thought 
came  to  Alan,  he  smiled,  and  the  major,  watching 
him,  said  to  himself,  "  No  wonder,  —  no  wonder ; 
but  it  shall  not  be."  ' 

"  It  is  strange,"  he  began  to  say,  "  that  you  do 
not  see  the  reasonableness  of  my  position,  Alan " 
(he  did  not  know  that  his  voice  had  softened),  "  even 
without  the  investigation  of  which  I  spoke ;  for  I 
should  suppose  that  even  the  most  superficial  ob 
server  of  life  must  at  some  time  be  struck  by  the 
sorrow  of  love?  Every  school-boy  will  remember 
his  Plato,  and  the  wisdom  of  moderation  ;  and  you, 
a  man,  you  surely  know  that  love  is  not  moderation  ; 
it  is  the  highest  height  and  the  deepest  depth.  And 
you  wonder  that  I  would  protect  her  !  " 

"  To  gain  the  heights  once,  a  man  would  walk  in 
the  depths  afterwards !  "  cried  the  other. 

"  But  you  "  —  Mortimer  Lee  had  nothing  but  en 
treaty  now  —  "  you  have  not  the  hope  of  a  very  long 
life  before  you,  I  have  been  told !  Is  it  possible 
that  you  do  not  see  "  — 

"  I  think  I  see  what  you  mean,"  Alan  answered 
gently.  "I  suppose  I  shall  not  live  very  long, 
but"  — 

The  major  looked  at  him,  with  a  strange  simplic 
ity  in  his  worn  face.  "  Is  —  is  the  time  short  ?  May 
it  not  be  —  quite  far  off  ?  "  The  hint  of  hope  in 
his  face  was  so  unmistakable  that  it  touched  Alan 
into  a  smile ;  but  there  was  a  mist  of  pity  in  his 
happy  eyes. 


386  SIDNEY. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  he  said,  "  dying  is  not  one  of 
those  things  which  can  be  arranged  by  date."  He 
bit  his  lip  to  hide  his  smile.  It  was  an  unusual  ex 
perience,  the  frank  intimation  that  his  early  exit 
from  the  world  would  give  pleasure.  "  Sidney  has 
refused  me,"  he  added  encouragingly.  "  So  you 
must  not  be  anxious.  Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean. 
I  do  love  Sidney,  and  because  I  love  her  she  shall 
not  love  me.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  that.  But 
if  you  think  that  she  may  —  that  —  I  mean,  if  you 
think  it  would  be  best,  I  will  go  away  from  Mercer. 
But  "  —  He  stopped  ;  a  quick  determination  came 
into  his  face.  "  Look  here,"  he  said ;  "  I  want  to 
say  something  right  here."  He  rose,  and  stood 
looking  down  at  his  companion.  "  You  are  an  old 
man,  Major  Lee,  and  I  am  only  a  young  fellow  — 
but  I  —  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something,  sir,  and  I 
beg  your  pardon  in  advance.  I  think  you  ought  to 
hear  it ;  I  think  some  healthy-minded  person  ought 
to  show  you  how  preposterous,  how  absurd,  this  idea 
of  yours  is.  Why,  I  assure  you,  I  can't  take  it  seri 
ously,"  protested  Alan,  frowning  and  gesticulating. 
"  It  is  perfectly  fantastic  !  " 

Mortimer  Lee  was  too  much  astonished  for  words. 
This  boy,  this  light-headed  boy,  who  knew  no  more 
of  life  than  a  frolicsome  puppy,  to  whom  love  and 
death  were  only  words,  was  going  to  "  show  "  him 
that  logic  was  not  to  be  applied  to  life. 

"  If  Sidney,"  proceeded  the  young  man,  "  could 
just  get  away  from  this  one-sided  habit  of  thought, 
this  dealing  with  death  as  an  isolated  fact ;  if  she 
could  fall  in  love,"  —  the  dignity  of  reserve  came 


SIDNEY.  387 

into  his  face,  but  his  voice  was  gentle  and  his  words 
simple,  —  "  if  she  could  fall  in  love  in  a  natural, 
wholesome,  human  way,  it  would  be  far  better  for 
her  than  the  egotism  of  the  avoidance  of  pain  which 
you  inculcate.  I  trust,  sir,  that  I  have  not  offended 
you,  but  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  this  should  be 
said." 

"  Sir,"  returned  the  major,  "  you  have  a  right  to 
express  your  opinion  ;  the  more  so  that  you  have 
done  me  the  favor  of  assuring  me  that  you  will 
leave  Mercer." 

Alan  flushed.  "  Major  Lee,  you  know  that  I  did 
not  mean  to  take  advantage  of  —  of  that.  I  shall 
go  away,  but  I  thought  it  proper  that  you  should 
know  my  going  was  no  concession  to  your  views.  It 
is  only  because  I  have  not  a  man's  ordinary  chances 
of  life.  If  I  had  !  —  But  I  will  go  away."  A  man, 
however,  cannot  doff  his  character  as  he  would  his 
coat,  and  Alan  added,  "  for  a  time." 

The  major  was  very  much  moved,  —  too  moved 
to  resent  the  folly  of  the  youth  who  had  attempted 
to  instruct  him,  or  to  discuss  his  own  position ;  he 
did  not  try  to  conceal  his  relief  at  Alan's  acknow 
ledgment  of  ill  health,  nor  his  joy  that  he  was  going 
away.  "  Young  man,"  he  said  tremulously,  "  there 
is,  in  this  distracted  world,  one  certain  thing,  — 
compensation.  You  spare  Sidney,  and  you  are  your 
self  spared  the  pain  of  leaving  her."  He  put  out 
his  hand,  and  Alan  took  it  in  his  brave  young  grasp  ; 
neither  of  them  spoke.  It  was  not  a  time  for  thanks 
or  for  protestations. 

A  moment  later  he  had  gone,  and  Alan  was  alone. 


388  SIDNEY. 

No  one  can  contemplate  the  two  realities  of  life 
and  remain  unchanged ;  he  must  be  either  narrower 
or  nobler.  Alan  Crossan,  looking  into  the  eyes  of 
Love  and  Death,  in  these  last  few  weeks,  had  gained 
a  point  where  he  was  not  aware  of  himself.  This 
talk  with  Major  Lee  was  not,  as  it  would  have  been 
six  months  ago,  a  "  situation,"  a  "  scene,"  to  be  ob 
served  with  interest ;  instead,  it  was  felt. 

"  I  will  go  away,"  he  determined.  And  this  sol 
emn  joy  of  renunciation  made  him  decide  that  he 
would  not  even  say  good-by  to  Sidney.  That  very 
day  he  began  his  arrangements  for  departure. 

The  first  thing  to  be  thought  of  was  Robert.  Rob 
ert  needed  him.  "Yet,"  Alan  had  grumbled  to 
himself,  only  the  day  before,  "  the  fellow  does  n't 
want  me.  How  the  deuce  am  I  to  get  at  him?" 
But  after  that  promise  to  Major  Lee,  he  had  the  in 
spiration  which  is  so  common  in  friendship  that  the 
wonder  is  it  is  not  commonplace  and  futile,  —  Rob 
ert  must  feel  that  he  was  needed.  (The  curious 
part  of  this  plan  is  that  both  sides  regard  it  as  sub 
tile.) 

As  soon  as  this  suggested  itself  to  Alan,  he  went 
in  search  of  his  friend.  "  Bob,  I  wish  you  'd  do  me 
a  favor,"  he  began,  as  he  entered  Robert's  room  ; 
and  then  he  unfolded  his  plan  that  they  should 
travel  together  for  a  time.  fct  I  am  not  up  to  going 
by  myself,"  he  admitted ;  and  Robert  was  eager  and 
grateful  for  the  chance  to  be  of  use. 

"  See  here,  old  man,"  Alan  said,  as  he  rose  to  go, 
"I'll  have  to  prescribe  for  you;  you've  let  up  on 
morphine  too  suddenly  ?  " 


SIDNEY.  389 

"  No,"  answered  the  other,  "  it  had  to  be  done  at 
a  blow.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  that  when  I  made 
up  my  mind  about  the  Church." 

"The  Church?" 

Eobert  smiled  faintly.  "  Yes.  I  can't  manage 
my  own  life  ;  I  've  made  a  failure  of  it ;  but  I  can 
put  it  where  it  won't  do  any  more  harm,  and  per 
haps  —  I  dare  to  hope,  some  good.  I  have  entered 
the  Catholic  Church,  —  my  mother's  church,  you 
know." 

"  Good  Lord !  "  said  Alan. 

"  She  forgave  me,"  proceeded  the  other,  "  but  I 
cannot  forgive  myself ;  I  do  not  mean  for  telling 
her,  —  that  was  right,  —  but  for  misleading  her,  in 
the  first  place.  I  cannot  trust  myself.  The  church 
which  directs,  and  governs,  and  obliterates  the  indi 
vidual  is  the  place  for  a  man  like  me.  When  you 
are  well  and  strong  again,  I  shall  enter  some  broth 
erhood  —  and  —  and  I  shall  at  least  be  harmless." 

"  You  will  be  crazy,"  Alan  assured  him.  "  Man 
alive !  how  can  you  be  a  Catholic  ?  What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  your  reason  ?  " 

"  Have  I  used  it  so  well  that  I  can  rely  upon  it, 
do  you  think  ?  "  returned  the  other.  Alan  looked  at 
him  despairingly.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  by  Jove,  Bob, 
when  conscience  takes  the  bit  of  common  sense  in 
its  teeth,  it  will  run  as  viciously  as  the  most  unbri 
dled  passions !  "  But  Robert  refused  to  discuss  it 
in  such  a  spirit ;  and  later,  when  the  two  men  talked 
seriously  of  this  matter,  Alan  reluctantly  admitted 
that  his  friend  was  wise. 

They  hastened  their  arrangements  for  departure, 


390  SIDNEY. 

and,  without  discussion  or  apparent  agreement,  it 
came  about  that  they  left  Mercer  the  day  before 
John  and  Katherine  were  married.  The  doctor  was 
sorry  for  this,  but  he  felt  Robert's  pain  at  the  re 
membrance  of  what  that  day  was  to  have  been  to 
him  and  to  Miss  Sally,  and  made  no  protest.  He 
called  to  say  good-by  to  Mrs.  Paul  the  night  before 
they  went  away,  but  she  was  too  happily  excited  to 
regret  very  deeply  his  absence  from  the  wedding,  or  to 
think  of  mentioning  it  to  Sidney.  So  the  girl  went 
to  the  little  church,  that  pleasant  August  afternoon, 
full  of  strange  fear  and  hope ;  Alan  would  be  there, 
she  thought.  She  was  willing  to  see  him,  she  had 
said  to  herself  a  dozen  times  ;  with  too  little  under 
standing  of  love  to  know  that  she  was  selfish. 

Since  the  night  when  she  had  talked  with  her 
father,  Sidney  had  changed  from  one  opinion  to  an- 
another  as  to  the  expediency  of  love,  —  even  when 
one's  soul  rested  in  the  assurance  of  God.  She  was 
like  a  flower  swaying  into  the  sunshine  and  into  the 
shadow,  but  rooted  all  the  while  in  the  earth  from 
which  it  sprang.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  her  that 
she  would  tear  love  out  of  her  heart ;  then,  that 
she  would  love  Alan  a  little,  but  he  should  never 
know  it ;  then,  that  he  might  know  it,  and  they 
would  both  forget  it ;  and,  again,  that  love  should 
end.  But,  no  matter  what  temporary  opinion  she 
might  hold,  she  never  doubted  that  love  meant  sor 
row,  nor  swerved  from  the  determination  not  to 
marry  him.  There  was,  however,  no  reason,  she 
said  to  herself,  that  she  should  not  meet  him,  some 
times,  and  she  was  confused  and  a  little  troubled 
that  he  no  longer  came  to  see  her. 


SIDNEY.  391 

Of  course  she  should  see  him  at  the  wedding,  she 
thought.  She  was  to  have  gone  to  church  with  Mrs. 
Paul,  but  Mrs.  Paul  had  forgotten  her ;  so  Sidney 
found  her  way  to  Miss  Sally's  seat,  which  was  in  the 
shadow  of  a  pillar  and  beside  a  blue  window,  that 
was  tipped  half-way  open,  so  that  she  could  see  the 
glimmering  line  of  the  river  across  the  meadows, 
and  beyond,  the  hills,  misty  with  August  sunshine  ; 
nearer  were  the  dusty  roofs  of  the  brick-kilns,  and 
long  rows  of  sun-baked  bricks  ;  and  nearer  yet  was 
the  frame  of  ivy  leaves  about  the  little  window. 
With  the  singing  murmur  of  the  organ  John  and 
Katherine  entered.  Sidney  had  never  seen  a  wed 
ding  before.  She  sat  in  the  dark  corner,  leaning 
forward,  nervously  grasping  the  back  of  the  pew  in 
front  of  her  ;  she  listened  with  an  intensity  which 
made  her  breath  come  hurriedly,  and  her  eyes  blur 
so  that  she  could  scarcely  see  the  bunch  of  white 
August  lilies  which  some  one  had  placed  in  the  book- 
rack,  behind  Miss  Sally's  small  shabby  Prayer-Book. 
Scarcely  a  month  ago,  what  a  different  scene  the  lit 
tle  gray  church  had  witnessed !  It  had  been  Death, 
then,  which  had  moved  up  the  aisle  to  the  chancel ; 
and  now,  Love  followed,  joyously,  in  Death's  very 
steps,  —  forgetting ! 

Perhaps  the  words  which  remained  in  Sidney's 
heart,  out  of  all  the  stately  and  beautiful  marriage 
service,  were  those  least  thought  of  in  the  daily  care 
less  life  of  husband  and  wife,  —  "till  death  us  do 
part." 

"Part!"  she  thought.  "If  they  believe  what 
they  say  they  believe,  that  death  does  not  end  all, 
why  is  it  not  '  till  death  us  do  join  '  ?  " 


392  SIDNEY. 

"  O  Eternal  God,"  she  heard  Mr.  Brown  say, 
"  Creator  and  Preserver  of  all  mankind,  Giver  of  all 
spiritual  grace  "  —  and  Sidney  knelt  with  the  rest, 
but  with  a  certain  terror.  To  presume  to  address 
the  Unknown  !  —  oh,  would  not  silence  be  better  ? 

Death  had  not  been  so  solemn  to  Sidney  as  was 
this  crown  of  life,  —  solemn  and  terrible ;  an  enter 
ing  into  the  Eternal,  a  yielding  up  of  God  to  God. 
It  was  neither  joy  nor  sorrow,  but  an  acceptance  of 
life  as  part  of  the  Purpose  of  the  universe. 

She  dared  not  look  into  the  faces  of  the  man  and 
woman  thus  glorified,  as  they  turned  to  leave  the 
church.  Still  kneeling,  she  hid  her  eyes  in  the  bunch 
of  white  lilies,  and  waited.  Yet  she  might  have 
looked.  It  is  conceivable  that  Moses  could  have 
come  down  from  the  mount,  good  and  glad,  but  with 
no  glory  in  his  countenance  that  need  be  hidden  from 
awestricken  eyes.  No  one  saw  Sidney  in  the  dark 
corner ;  and  after  the  gay  little  company  had  gone, 
she  still  sat  there  by  the  blue  window.  Some  birds 
twittered  in  the  ivy,  rustling  the  leaves  as  they 
moved  ;  the  organist  in  the  dusky  loft  pushed  in  the 
stops  and  shut  the  organ,  and  a  muffled  echo  crept 
along  the  arches  of  the  ceiling.  A  rosy  finger  of 
light  from  the  west  window  pointed  up  the  aisle  and 
into  the  chancel ;  the  shadows  of  the  leaves  moved 
across  it  like  living  things. 

"  Why  do  they  have  words,"  Sidney  was  think 
ing,  "  and  why  were  we  here  ?  We  had  no  right  to 
see  them.  A  wedding  is  love  and  God  ;  it  was  pro 
fane  to  see  it." 

The  sexton,  old  and  wrinkled,  went  limping  up 


SIDNEY.  393 

into  the  chancel  to  take  away  the  flowers  ;  he  sang 
to  himself  in  a  soft  falsetto,  which  cracked  into  un 
expected  bass. 

"  The  Lord  my  Shepherd  is ; 

He  makes  me  down  to  lie 
In  pastures  green  ;   He  leadeth  me 
The  quiet  waters  by."' 

He  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  that  he  was  treading 
upon  holy  ground.  Back  and  forth  he  went,  carry 
ing  the  flowers  in  his  lean  old  arms  ;  then,  still  sing 
ing,  he  came  with  a  long  pole  to  shut  the  windows, 
set  deep  in  the  gray  walls.  Sidney  startled  him,  as 
she  rose  and  went  away. 

Oh,  how  terrible  life  was  j  how  unbearable  with 
out  the  Eternal  Refuge  of  the  enfolding  understand 
ing  of  it  all !  Yet,  how  foolish  to  invite  sorrow  as 
these  two  had  done  !  She  would  not  do  that. 

But  her  heart  was  full  of  Alan,  as  she  walked 
home  ;  not  with  any  weakening  of  resolution,  but 
with  the  human  joy  of  love,  which  is  not  to  be  de 
stroyed  by  reason,  or  time,  or  death  itself  ;  so  that 
when  she  came  into  the  library,  and  saw,  leaning 
against  the  crystal  ball  on  the  oak  table,  a  letter 
addressed  to  her  in  Alan's  hand,  her  face  flushed 
with  happiness.  She  opened  it  with  smiling  haste  ; 
and  then  stood,  in  the  yellow  dusk  of  sunset,  read 
ing  its  brief  and  friendly  words  :  — 

DEAR  SIDNEY,  —  I  am  sorry  to  go  away  —  and 
for  an  indefinitely  long  time  —  so  hastily  that  I  may 
not  say  good-by  to  you  ;  but  I  must  leave  Mercer  to 
night.  [Sidney,  her  face  settling  into  white  calm, 


394  SIDNEY. 

mechanically  looked  back  ;  it  was  dated  the  day  be 
fore.]  I  hope  to  sail  for  Europe  very  soon,  but 
just  now  I  'in  off  for  the  mountains  for  a  few  weeks, 
to 4  loaf  and  invite  my  soul ! '  Robert  Steele,  who  goes 
with  me,  begs  to  be  remembered  to  you. 

Sincerely  yours,  ALAN  CROSS  AN. 

The  yellow  light  faded  and  faded ;  the  sparkle  of 
the  crystal  ball  trembled  into  gray ;  the  shadows 
stretched  themselves  about  the  room.  There  was 
the  click  of  the  iron  gate  in  the  courtyard,  and  Ma 
jor  Lee's  step  upon  the  porch. 

"  It  is  better  so,"  she  said,  lifting  her  head.  "  I 
am  glad  that  he  has  gone  ;  this  decides  it.  It  is 
better  for  him." 


XXIX. 

ALAN  went ;  but  he  took  his  disposition  with  him. 
He  was  full  of  the  exaltation  of  sacrifice  ;  yet  he 
watched  critically  for  the  first  indication  of  weaken 
ing  resolution.  After  a  while,  with  the  reality  of 
absence  came  a  depression  which  was  new,  and  in 
which,  for  once,  he  failed  to  find  his  own  mood  in 
teresting.  It  became  necessary  that  he  should  as 
sure  himself  repeatedly  that  he  had  done  well  to 
spare  Sidney  his  love,  because  he  spared  her  also  the 
end  which  was  hurriedly  approaching.  Perhaps 
Alan's  weakness  of  soul,  as  well  as  body,  in  those 
yellow  September  days,  was  good  for  Robert  Steele. 
Usefulness  was  to  be  his  salvation,  he  said  to  him 
self,  and,  gradually,  his  purpose  of  going  into  the 
Catholic  Church  became  not  only  a  flight  from  de 
spair,  but  a  hope  for  the  future.  He  and  Alan  spoke 
of  it  often,  as  they  wandered  and  rested  among  the 
hills ;  Alan  admitting,  reluctantly,  that  it  was  best, 
yet  filled  with  the  friendliest  curiosity  and  wonder. 
He  recognized  in  Robert  the  absence  of  that  spirit 
ual  passion  which,  having  little  to  do  with  sweet  rea 
sonableness,  often  hurries  an  impressionable  man 
into  some  expression  of  reli'gion.  In  the  past,  Rob 
ert  had  had  scarcely  more  of  a  creed  than  Alan,  yet 
he  had  felt  the  need  of  one,  and  to  feel  that  is  al 
most  a  creed  in  itself ;  and  now  he  was  terrified  at 


393  SIDNEY. 

his  own  nature,  and  sought  to  escape  from  it  in  the 
strong,  wise  arms  of  that  church  which  nourishes  the 
soul,  and  leaves  the  intellect  to  itself ;  here,  with  bit 
ter  knowledge  of  his  cowardice,  he  saw  his  safety 
assured.  Necessity  had  thrust  a  creed  upon  him  ! 

Alan  understood  and  sympathized  with  all  his 
sweet  and  generous  heart,  but  refrained  from  theo 
logical  discussion.  This  for  two  reasons  :  he  did 
not  know  anything  about  theology,  and  he  cared  less. 
He  entered  into  Robert's  plans,  however,  with  the 
greatest  interest,  and  furthered  them  by  suggesting 
that,  as  soon  as  he  himself  was  a  little  stronger,  they 
should  go  together  to  Rome.  Then  he  fell  to  think 
ing  how  rich  his  life  had  grown  since  he  saw  Italy 
last,  and  the  light  in  his  face  was  as  though  for  a 
moment  the  flame  of  life  lifted  and  glowed  behind 
his  smiling  eyes.  These  moments  of  satisfaction 
with  himself  became  rarer,  however,  as  his  strength 
declined,  and  so  the  date  of  departure  for  Europe 
was  postponed,  and  still  postponed. 

October  came,  and  yet  they  lingered  among  the 
hills.  Alan  had  begun  to  say  to  himself  that  perhaps 
he  was  a  fool  ;  and  when  a  man  reaches  that  point, 
it  is  only  a  step  to  the  determination  to  renounce  his 
folly.  Yet  to  break  one's  word  to  one's  self  is  dis 
tinctly  unpleasant,  although,  if  the  responsibility  of 
it  can  be  shared  with  another  person  it  is  a  little  less 
so.  Alan  instinctively  sought  approval ;  and  who 
would  be  so  ready  to  approve  of  anything  he  might 
do  as  Robert  ? 

One  still  day,  early  in  November,  the  two  young 
men  went  very  slowly,  and  resting  often,  up  and 


SIDNEY.  397 

across  a  ferny  pasture  on  a  steep  mountain  side,  and 
stopped  at  last  near  a  low,  shaggy  cedar.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon,  but  the  Indian-summer  mildness 
lingered,  even  while  the  gradual  amethyst  of  evening 
fell  around  the  feet  of  the  mountains  opposite,  and 
crept,  like  a  tide  of  dreams,  up  the  great  ranges  of 
the  hills.  From  behind  the  shoulder  of  a  peak  misty 
with  this  haze  of  night,  which  yet  is  not  darkness, 
the  yellow  sunset  blurred  the  distance  in  flooding 
gold,  and  fell  upon  the  bosom  of  this  rocky  field. 
Down  in  the  valley,  a  little  tumbling  branch  of  the 
Youghiogheny  grew  dark  in  the  shadows,  only  gleam 
ing  with  sudden  white  where  the  water  leaped  and 
broke  across  the  great  stones  in  its  path. 

Alan  had  changed  in  these  two  months.  His  eyes 
yet  smiled,  but  his  face  was  white.  He  lay  flat  on 
his  back  under  the  cedar,  where  the  sunshine  was 
warm  still  upon  the  frosted  ferns ;  his  hands  were 
under  his  head,  his  knees  crossed,  and  there  was  a 
cigar  between  his  lips.  Robert  sat  beside  him,  look 
ing  down  into  the  darkening  valley,  thinking.  As 
he  watched  the  twist  of  blue  smoke  from  Alan's 
cigar,  or,  absently,  the  swing  of  a  stalk  of  goldenrod 
under  the  weight  of  a  brown  butterfly,  he  was  press 
ing  his  own  weakness  in  upon  his  memory,  as  a  fa 
natic  will  again  and  again  open  a  healing  wound.  He 
would  not  even  accept  the  consolation  of  a  look  into 
the  future,  with  its  hope  of  a  better  life,  —  except, 
as  he  said  to  himself,  that  he  would  never  take'  any 
positive  stand  again  so  long  as  he  lived ;  he  would 
do  only  as  he  might  be  directed,  and  then,  perhaps, 
he  could  get  through  life  without  injuring  any  one. 


398  SIDNEY. 

"  Bob,"  said  the  doctor,  "  do  you  know,  I  believe 
I  've  been  a  fool  to  come  up  here  ?  " 

"  Why?  "  Robert  asked,  turning  with  quick  anxi 
ety  to  look  into  his  face.  "  You  are  no  worse  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  was  n't  thinking  of  that.  I  mean  in  leav 
ing  Mercer." 


"Yes?" 


"  Well,"  Alan  began  slowly,  "  I  '11  tell  you  what  I 
mean  ;  "  and  then  he  told  him. 

It  was  not  a  long  story,  and  the  main  fact  his 
hearer  had  long  ago  guessed ;  but,  in  the  middle,  at 
the  point  at  which  he  had  told  Major  Lee  that  he 
would  not  see  Sidney,  Alan  stopped,  —  perhaps  to 
relight  his  cigar,  perhaps  to  seek  some  words  which 
might  make  his  change  of  mind  seem  to  himself  rea 
sonable,  or  at  least  inevitable.  Robert  looked  at  him 
with  a  tenderness  which  might  have  shone  in  the 
eyes  of  a  woman. 

"  It  was  a  mistake  to  take  such  a  stand,"  the  doc 
tor  proceeded ;  "  and  to  stick  to  a  blunder,  when  you 
recognize  it  as  such,  is  obstinacy,  not  consistency.  I 
mean  the  going  away  was  a  blunder;  there  is  no 
reason  why  I  should  not  have  stayed  in  Mercer.  I 
need  not  have  —  I  mean,  just  to  see  her  sometimes 
would  have  done  no  harm.  There  is  no  reason  why 
I  should  not  see  her.  As  for  the  major,  his  plan  of 
life  is  wicked." 

"It  is  against  nature,"  Robert  admitted. 

"  How  does  it  strike  you,"  Alan  asked,  after  a 
pause,  —  "  the  going  back  to  Mercer  ?  " 

Robert  hesitated.  "  I  am  confused,"  he  said  at 
last,  "  between  the  right  she  has  to  receive,  even  to 


SIDNEY.  399 

claim,  sorrow,  and  the  right  you  have  to  withhold  it 
from  her.  But  that  is  not  your  question.  Your 
promise  to  Major  Lee  is  the  first  thing.  Of  course 
he  must  release  you  from  that  before  you  can  re 
turn." 

"  There  was  no  promise  —  exactly,"  Alan  explained 
impatiently. 

Robert's  face  flushed,  and  he  looked  away  from 
the  doctor.  "  It  would  not,  however,  be  —  honora 
ble."  He  dropped  his  voice,  miserably,  at  that  last 
word. 

Alan  struck  him  on  the  knee  with  friendly  rough 
ness.  "  I  don't  pretend  to  be  as  good  as  you ;  no 
doubt  you  are  right.  But  I  'm  going  back.  Per 
haps  I  '11  die  there,  but  —  not  directly !  And  just 
to  see  her,  Bob  !  " 

He  had  only  said  that  he  loved  Sidney,  and  she 
had  refused  him  ;  the  sacred  confession  of  that 
second  refusal  he  kept  in  his  own  heart.  But  the 
gladness  in  his  face  betrayed  the  truth. 

Not  many  days  later,  they  returned  to  Mercer: 
Robert,  with  faint  protestations  that  the  major  should 
be  asked  to  release  Alan,  or  at  least  warned  of  the 
doctor's  intentions ;  Alan,  with  the  reckless  gayety  of 
the  man  who  refuses  to  recognize  his  own  misgivings 
about  his  duty.  They  went  back  to  their  old  rooms 
in  Mercer,  for  the  agent  had  found  no  other  tenants  ; 
and  the  sunshine  dancing  on  the  walls  of  the  library 
met  them  with  the  welcome  Alan's  heart  supplied. 

"  Ah,"  he  said.  "  it  is  good  to  be  in  the  same  town 
with  her.  To-morrow  I  shall  see  her,  —  and  I  '11  see 
Major  Lee,  of  course ;  you  need  n't  look  at  me  in 
that  way!" 


400  SIDNEY. 

But  that  was  not  to  be.  To-morrow  came,  and 
with  it  the  rising  tide  of  death.  Alan  was  very  ill 
for  nearly  a  week.  Robert  wondered,  as  he  watched 
the  young  man's  brave  fight  for  life,  whether  his 
friend  was  glad  the  fates  had  spared  Sidney.  But 
Alan,  smiling  with  white  lips,  settled  that  question. 

"  Bob,  if  this  is  going  to  be  the  end,"  he  said,  with 
a  pause  between  his  words,  "  you  must  bring  Sidney, 
you  know."  His  face  lighted  as  he  spoke. 

It  was  not  the  end.  Little  by  little  he  came  back 
to  life,  but  it  was  some  time  before  he  spoke  of  Sid 
ney  again.  "  You  have  n't  seen  her,  have  you  ?  "  he 
asked.  He  was  watching  at  dusk  the  dance  of  the 
flames  on  the  hearth. 

"  I  ?  "  Robert  answered.     "  No,  of  course  not." 

Alan  raised  his  eyebrows.  "I  cannot  imagine 
why  not." 

"  Because  I  did  n't  suppose  you  wished  her  to  know 
that  you  were  here  before  you  had  seen  her  father/' 

Alan  looked  at  him  in  despair.  "  As  though  I 
remembered  that  nonsense,  with  one  foot  in  the 
grave.  And  she  must  have  heard  it  from  some 
body."  He  frowned  as  he  spoke ;  it  had  been  a 
beautiful  solace,  in  those  sharp  hours,  to  fancy  that 
Sidney's  thoughts  were  with  him. 

"  No,"  Robert  returned.  "  Mrs.  Paul  is  away,  as 
you  know,  and  unless  the  major  has  chanced  to  hear 
that  we  are  in  Mercer,  and  mentioned  it  to  Miss  Lee 
(which  does  not  seem  probable),  how  could  she  know 
it?" 

Alan  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "  I  want  her 
to  know  it !  "  Robert  made  no  reply.  "  You  must 
go  and  tell  her,"  Alan  declared. 


SIDNEY.  401 

"  You  will  write  to  Major  Lee  ?  "  his  friend  en 
treated  gently. 

"  Write  to  nobody !  "  said  Alan  sharply.  "  Un 
less  it  is  to  Sidney,  if  you  refuse  to  take  my  message. 
Do  you  refuse  ?  " 

"  Alan,"  the  other  evaded,  "  do  reconsider  this  ?  " 
Kobert  Steele  had  never  been  so  heroic  as  when  he 
raised  his  standard  of  honor  out  of  the  wreck  and 
ruin  of  his  own  life.  The  sick  rnan  wearily  turned 
his  head  away.  "  Steele,"  he  said,  "  conscience,  un 
restrained  by  common  sense,  is  worse  than  a  nui 
sance,  it 's  a  snare !  "  He  could  not  argue ;  how  fool 
ish  it  seemed,  this  straining  at  a  gnat !  Yet  a  little 
later  he  was  able  to  say,  with  friendly  cheerfulness, 
"  All  right ;  only  you  are  wrong,  old  man."  At  that 
Robert  threw  his  scruples  to  the  winds.  Of  course 
he  did  not  know  that  Alan  had  quietly  made  up  his 
mind  to  "manage  his  own  affairs,"  but  that  would 
not  have  made  any  difference.  Without  a  word  of 
his  plans  he  said  he  was  going  out  to  walk. 

Robert  had  not  entered  Major  Lee's  house  since 
that  day  when  he  went  to  tell  Miss  Sally  the  truth, 
and,  as  he  crossed  the  courtyard,  memory  assailed 
him  like  a  physical  pain.  The  little  paving-stones 
were  wet  with  November  mist,  and  the  fallen  leaves 
lay  in  wind-blown  heaps,  too  heavy  with  dampness  to 
rustle  as  he  walked  through  them.  Just  a  year  ago 
Miss  Sally  welcomed  him  here ;  the  major  trusted 
him ;  Alan  respected  him  ;  and  Sidney  ?  The  thought 
of  seeing  her  now  was  intolerable. 

He  followed  little  Susan  to  the  library,  but  with 
a  shuddering  consciousness  of  the  yellow  drawing- 


402  SIDNEY. 

room,  and  even  that  strange  sidewise  look  with  which 
one  sees  a  spot  where  perhaps  a  coffin  has  stood. 
Behind  that  closed  door  Miss  Sally  had  listened  to 
his  confession.  As  he  stood  waiting,  saying  to  him 
self,  "  She  is  dead,  —  she  is  dead,"  he  forgot  the 
terror  of  meeting  Sidney ;  after  all  these  weeks  his 
humiliation  was  too  absorbing  for  the  consciousness 
of  shame. 

Sidney,  when  she  heard  who  was  in  the  library, 
turned  white,  and  then  a  wave  of  color  covered  her 
face.  Mr.  Steele  in  Mercer  ?  Then  Alan  must  be, 
also !  Oh,  why  had  he  come  back  ?  She  went 
downstairs  slowly,  her  hand  resting  on  the  banister, 
her  mind  in  a  tumult.  Then  the  thought  struck  her 
of  the  pain  it  must  be  to  Mr.  Steele  to  enter  this 
house  where  death  had  been,  and  her  own  confusion 
was  forgotten.  That  Sidney  could  so  forget  was  in 
dicative  of  that  change  in  her  which  Robert  saw  in 
her  face.  For  an  instant  it  seemed  as  though  this 
woman,  in  her  black  gown,  with  earnest,  pitying 
eyes,  could  not  be  the  old  Sidney  Lee ;  her  wide,  in 
different  gaze  was  gone,  and  with  it  self-satisfaction 
and  a  certain  sweet  disdain  which  had  charmed  and 
wounded  at  onse.  Instead,  there  was  a  quiet  ac 
ceptance  of  life,  lightened,  indeed,  by  that  great 
moment  when  she  had  recognized  her  larger  self,  but 
only  by  its  memory,  not  its  repetition.  Such  memo 
ries  feed  the  soul ;  a  man  who  has  once  lifted  his 
eyes  to  the  midnight  heavens  may  walk  forever 
afterwards  with  his  face  towards  the  dust,  but  he 
cannot  forget  that  he  has  seen  the  stars !  So  Sid^ 
ney,  failing  again  and  yet  again,  bowed  by  the  shame 


SIDNEY.  403 

of  self-knowledge,  struggling  with  her  own  weakness 
and  incompleteness,  was  sustained  by  the  memory  of 
that  Strength  which  was  sufficient  for  her. 

She  had  suffered,  and  her  soul  was  born. 

Robert  and  she  looked  at  each  other  a  moment, 
as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  then  he  turned  sharply 
away  from  her.  Sidney  did  not  speak  ;  those  mean 
ingless  commonplaces,  which  wash  realities  out  of 
life,  were  not  easy  to  either  of  these  two.  The  tears 
trembled  in  her  eyes ;  sympathy,  which  was  a  new 
sense,  showed  her  what  to  say. 

"  Mr.  Steele,  the  lilies  in  the  church  the  day  that 
Katherine  was  married  were  so  beautiful ;  I  knew 
you  put  them  there." 

"  I  had  no  right  to  do  even  that !  "  he  answered, 
in  a  low  voice.  His  own  misery  made  him  forget 
his  purpose  in  coming,  and  Sidney  was  too  pitiful  to 
think  of  herself,  and  so  remind  him. 

"You  are  unhappy,"  she  said  gently,  and  with 
that  calm,  direct  look  which  made  any  subject  fit 
ting.  "  You  are  unhappy  because  you  brought  your 
engagement  with  my  aunt  to  an  end.  That  is  not 
right,  it  seems  to  me.  Truly,  I  think  you  honored 
truth  in  doing  it ;  but  you  degrade  truth  in  being 
sorry  that  you  did  it." 

"  It  —  it  is  not  that !  "  he  cried  ;  and  then,  almost 
with  a  groan,  "  I  am  unworthy  to  speak  her  name  ! " 

Sidney  waited.  "  I  wonder  where  Alan  is,"  she 
was  saying  to  herself ;  but  she  waited. 

"  No,"  he  went  on,  after  a  pause,  "  I  did  right  to 
tell  her  ;  but  the  sin  —  the  sin  was  in  the  beginning, 
—  that  I  did  not  see  that  it  was  not  love'  " 


404  SIDNEY. 

"Yes,"  she  assented. 

"  And  now,"  Robert  ended,  "  she  is  dead." 

They  neither  of  them  spoke  for  a  few  moments. 

"  Miss  Lee,"  Robert  began,  his  voice  firm  again, 
"  will  you  tell  me  a  little  about  her  illness  ?  I  know 
nothing  of  it.  I  felt  I  had  no  right  to  ask  Alan." 

Sidney  started.  "It  was  not  very  long,  you 
know.  Alan  was  with  us  almost  all  the  time.  He 
was  so  good." 

"Yes?" 

"  Oh,  where  is  he  ?  "  she  cried,  turning,  and  look 
ing  straight  into  his  face.  "  Where  is  Alan?" 

"  He  is  here  in  Mercer.     I  came  to  tell  you." 

"Here?"  she  faltered.  "We  have  not  seen 
him." 

"  We  only  came  ten  days  ago,"  he  explained.  "  I 
want  to  tell  you  about  him,  Miss  Lee." 

"  Yes,  tell  me  !  "  It  would  not  have  occurred  to 
Sidney  to  disguise  her  wish  to  hear  of  Alan. 

"I  hope  that  he  may  be  able  to  come  to  see 
you"  — 

"  Be  able  ?  "  Sidney  interrupted  quickly.  "  Has 
he  been  ill?" 

"  Yes ;  Alan  has  been  very  ill,  Miss  Lee." 

"  But  not  now  ?  "  she  entreated  breathlessly,  — 
"  he  is  better  now  ?  " 

"  For  to-day,  yes,"  he  answered,  "  but  he  will 
never  be  well."  She  did  not  speak ;  Robert  could 
not  tell  whether  she  understood  him.  "  He  has 
been  so  much  worse,  so  much  weaker,  and  —  we 
shcJl  not  have  him  with  us  very  long.  I  thought  — - 
I  thought  you  ought  to  know  it  ?  " 


SIDNEY  405 

"  Yes."  Her  face  was  so  white  that  Robert  was 
terrified  at  what  he  had  done.  He  tried  to  say 
something  more  of  what  he  still  dared  to  hope,  but 
every  word  of  hope  was  strung  upon  a  thread  of 
fear,  and  he  dared  not  offer  the  comfort  of  a  lie. 
Sidney  was  not  listening ;  when  he  ended,  she  said 
quietly,  "  There  is  my  father  coming  ;  tell  him." 

Robert  met  the  major  on  the  doorstep.  He  had 
forgotten  that  this  was  the  first  time  that  he  had 
seen  him  since  Miss  Sally's  funeral ;  for  once  he 
was  so  unconscious  of  his  own  sins  that  he  did  not 
see  the  questioning  displeasure  on  Mortimer  Lee's 
face.  "  Alan  Crossan  is  in  Mercer,"  he  said,  "  but 
he  is  very  ill.  I  have  just  told  your  daughter." 
Then,  without  pausing  for  an  answer,  he  left  him. 

Sidney  stood  in  the  firelit  dusk,  waiting. 
"  Father,"  she  said,  as  he  entered,  — "  father,  I 
have  something  to  tell  you." 

The  major  closed  the  door,  and  took  her  in  his 
arms. 


XXX. 

TVrra  the  perfect  blossoming  of  a  rose  the  calyx 
falls  away,  and  is  folded  back  under  its  shadowy  fra 
grance.  So  do  the  small  things  of  life,  necessary  in 
their  hour,  find  their  relative  value  in  a  great  crisis. 
i%  For  this  cause  came  I  into  the  world,"  the  soul 
declares  calmly :  and  knows  no  hesitation,  and, 
equally,  no  determination.  Its  purpose  and  itself 
are  one.  When  the  environment  is  forgotten,  the 
supremest  individuality  is  reached. 

Now,  staring  into  the  eyes  of  Death,  while  Grief 
beckoned  her  with  extended  hand.  Sidney  Lee's 
consciousness  of  fear,  and  expediency,  and  obedi 
ence  to  her  father,  was  pushed  back  by  this  blossom 
ing  of  her  souL  She  read  her  own  heart,  and  saw  her 
love  for  Alan,  not  as  a  thing  bursting  into  existence 
at  the  touch  of  death,  but  as  a  tranquil  and  eternal 
fact;  so  much  a  part  of  her  that  not  only  did  it 
seem  that  it  must  always  be,  but  that  it  always  had 
been,  even  as  the  perfect  rose  has  been  shut  within 
the  seed !  It  was  not  to  be  accepted  nor  rejected. 
It  was.  Her  past  was  but  the  calyx  of  the  consum 
mate  flowering  of  life. 

She  was  so  calm  as  she  told  her  father  her  pur 
pose,  so  ultimate,  that  the  old  man  presented  no 
argument  and  ventured  no  entreaty.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  done  or  said. 


SIDNEY.  407 

Sidney  kissed  him  gently  when  she  ended  what 
she  had  to  say,  and  then  left  him.  He  could  not 
touch  her ;  he  could  not  speak  to  her.  "  It  is  as 
though  I  were  dead,"  he  said  to  himself.  This 
heart,  which  had  answered  his  as  the  water  answers 
the  wind,  could  not  be  reached  by  his  despair. 
%i  This  is  the  pain  of  the  dead,"  he  thought,  sitting 
alone  in  his  library  ;  "  they  cannot  touch  us  !  "  The 
dead!  What  was  he  thinking  of?  No,  they  had 
neither  this  nor  any  other  pain.  A  trembling  com 
fort  crept  back  into  his  heart ;  no  one  could  deprive 
him  of  death.  In  that,  at  least,  was  no  disappoint 
ment.  But  why  had  he  lived  so  long  ?  A  strange 
feeling  came  over  him,  a  realization  of  his  infinite 
removal  from  all  which  had  made  his  life.  Surely 
he  had  died  when  Gertrude's  lovely  eyes  closed  upon 
the  world  ?  Here,  in  the  shadows,  beside  his  smoul 
dering  fire,  that  delicate  and  marvelous  mechanism 
of  a  human  mind  quivered  under  the  jar  and  shock 
of  pain ;  in  a  dull  confusion  he  seemed  to  forget 
Sidney,  and  the  thought  came  to  him  that  Gertrude 
was  still  his.  To  rest  his  head  upon  her  bosom  — 
ah!  the  hideous  desolation  of  longing!  The  slow 

O         O 

tears  of  age  burned  under  his  weary  eyelids. 
Scarcely  aware  of  what  he  was  doing,  he  rose,  tak 
ing  the  lamp  in  his  unsteady  hands,  and  with  a 
feeble  step  left  the  library.  He  crossed  the  hall, 
and  stood  at  the  door  of  the  yellow  paflor.  The 
house  was  quite  silent ;  little  Susan  had  put  out  the 
lamp  on  the  staircase  au  hour  ago,  and  gone  up  to 
bed  ;  the  faint  glow  from  the  library  fire  lay  like  a 
bridge  across  the  darkness  of  the  hall.  He  did  not 


408  SIDNEY. 

hesitate,  but  the  confusion  of  his  thoughts  betrayed 
itself  by  the  slowness  with  which  he  turned  the  knob 
and  entered  the  parlor.  The  door  stuck  a  little, 
and  the  jar  of  pushing  it  open  moved  with  a  muffled 
echo  through  the  darkness ;  the  room  was  very  cold, 
and  there  was  the  scent  of  the  unused  fireplace  and 
the  linen  covers  of  the  furniture.  Mortimer  Lee 
went  at  once  towards  its  farther  end.  He  put  the 
lamp  down  upon  a  small  table  before  the  portrait, 
stopping  to  move  aside  a  little  workbag  of  green 
silk,  vaguely  aware  that  it  was  Sarah's.  Curiously 
enough,  it  reminded  him  of  death,  for  he  had  been 
saying  to  himself  that  Gertrude  arid  he  were  to 
gether,  and  that  meant  life. 

Then  he  turned  his  dim  eyes  upon  the  portrait. 

How  long  he  stood  there,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him,  or  holding  the  lamp  above  his  head, 
that  its  shifting  light  might  fall  upon  that  young 
face,  he  never  knew.  But  the  silence  ringing  in  his 
ears  was  clamorous  with  a  new  desolation  :  in  the 
arch  sweetness  of  those  eyes  there  was  no  compre 
hension  of  his  pain.  Who  was  she,  this  beautiful 
young  woman  ?  Not  the  wife  who  had  lived  in  his 
heart  all  these  years,  —  not  Gertrude,  whom  he 
knew  with  the  passion  of  sorrow?  Mortimer  Lee 
dropped  his  head  upon  his  breast,  without  a  sound. 
What  was  this  new  despair  ?  Where  was  his  grief  ? 
Suddenly,  for  one  swift  instant,  his  precious  posses 
sion  of  pain  seemed  torn  out  of  his  heart,  and  he  felt 
that  he  stood  alone.  That  fact  of  the  solitude  of  the 
soul  is  not  often  revealed  to  a  man,  and  when  it  is, 
it  crushes  the  mind  into  the  numbness  of  despair. 


SIDNEY.  409 

Such  a  revelation  is  so  overwhelming  that,  after 
wards,  the  soul  doubts  its  reality,  and  resumes  easily 
the  old  habit  of  communion  with  whatever,  in  the 
past,  has  been  most  near  and  real. 

That  night  Sidney  slept  as  peacefully  as  a  child. 
Her  life,  it  seemed  to  her,  had  been  taken  out  of  her 
hands,  and  she  knew  the  calm  of  the  fatalist,  which 
is,  perhaps,  the  highest  form  of  faith. 

It  was  snowing  when  she  looked  out  into  her  gar 
den,  the  next  morning  ;  the  firs  in  the  evergreen 
hedge  were  like  cowled  and  muffled  figures  stealing 
through  the  storm  ;  her  window  ledge  was  piled 
high  with  feathery  white,  and  the  leaded  outlines  of 
the  fan-lights  were  traced  in  twists  of  down.  All 
the  grimy,  bustling  town  faded  into  misty  purity 
while  the  snow  fell ;  here  and  there  from  a  great 
chimney  a  burst  of  flame,  like  a  ruddy  banner, 
flared  out  into  the  driving  white,  and  then  subsided 
into  a  roll  of  dark  smoke,  laced  by  hurrying  flakes. 

"  If  only  it  would  n't  stop  !  "  Alan  Crossan  said, 
sitting  at  his  library  window,  and  looking  at  the  soft 
depths  piling  up  on  the  naked  branches  of  the  old 
locust  tree;  "but  it  will  melt,  and  then  I  can't  go 
out  for  a  week." 

"  Do  you  think,"  Robert  asked,  "  that  you  will  be 
able  to  start  in  a  week  ?  " 

"If  I  want  to,"  the  other  replied,  with  gay  sig 
nificance.  "  Bob,  don't  worry  about  not  getting  to 
Rome  at  once.  Let  me  die  in  peace  at  Mercer,  and 
I  '11  be  your  patron  saint.  Besides,  if  you  are  really 
worried  at  the  delay,  I  have  a  '  History  of  the 


410  SIDNEY. 

Popes  '  you  can  study.  It  is  by  an  eminent  Protes 
tant  ;  it  will  give  you  lots  of  information." 

Robert  laughed,  but  said  he  really  thought  Alan 
ought  to  make  up  his  mind  to  start ;  a  Pennsylvania 
winter  was  not  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  an 
invalid. 

Alan  looked  at  him  with  interest.  "  You  don't 
take  the  strictly  moral  view  which  you  did  yester 
day  ?  "  he  observed. 

"  Yes,  I  do  ;  only  I  can't  see  that  it  makes  any 
difference  what  view  I  take." 

"  Not  the  slightest,"  Alan  agreed  good-naturedly. 

"  I  'd  like  to  ask  you  something,"  Robert  began, 
after  a  pause.  "  Do  you  mean,  if  you  stay,  to  —  try 
to  make  her  love  you  ?  " 

Alan's  face  grew  suddenly  grave.  "  No,"  he  said 
quietly. 

"  But  if  she  sees  you,  may  not  that  come  ?  " 

Alan  shook  his  head.  "  No  ;  it  must  not  come. 
I  only  want  her  to  know  that  I  am  in  town." 

"  She  knows  that." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor.     "  When  ?  " 

"  I  told  her,  yesterday." 

"Bob,"  cried  the  other  joyously,  "you're  a 
trump  !  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  Robert  answered,  uncertain  whether 
he  should  tell  Alan  the  confession  of  Sidney's  silence. 
("  It  will  only  make  it  harder  for  him,"  he  thought.) 

"  Nothing?     Did  you  tell  her  I  had  been  ill?  " 

"Yes,"  Robert  admitted,  still  struggling  to  see 
whether  he  was  not  really  helping  Alan  to  break  his 
word  to  the  major. 


SIDNEY.  411 

"Well?" 

"  She  didn't  say  anything." 

Alan  opened  his  lips,  but  seemed  to  find  him 
self  at  a  loss  for  words.  "  Did  n't  say  anything  ?  " 
he  repeated  blankly.  "  Did  n't  she  say  she  was 
sorry  ?  " 

Robert  shook  his  head.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind ;  he  had  done  wrong  in  telling  Sidney,  —  at 
least  it  should  end  here. 

Alan  fell  into  gloomy  silence.  He  was  hurt.  Not 
a  message,  not  a  word  ?  He  would  not  ask  any 
thing  further.  He  began  to  torment  himself  with 
questions  which  revealed  how,  underneath  his  as 
surance  to  her  and  his  sacrifice  in  going  away,  had 
lurked  the  hope  that  she  loved  him.  "  Perhaps  she 
was  angry  that  I  did  not  say  good-by  ?  Perhaps  my 
note  was  curt,  and  she  felt  that  I  had  ceased  to  love 
her  ?  "  Perhaps  —  perhaps  —  Is  a  lover  ever  done 
with  that  word  ? 

The  snow  whirled  and  drifted  against  his  window, 
but  to  Alan's  eyes  all  the  cheerfulness  of  the  storm 
was  gone.  Once  he  asked  abruptly,  "Did  she  look 
well?"  And  Robert  said,  "Yes;  but  older  and 
graver."  Alan  would  not  read  ;  he  had  not  strength 
enough  for  his  violin;  he  answeyed  Robert's  ef 
forts  at  conversation  by  monosyllables.  He  looked 
gloomily  at  the  fire,  and  said  to  himself  that  after 
all,  life  was  a  grim  sort  of  thing ;  and  he  wondered 
whether  the  mere  satiety  of  living  might  not  bring 
the  desire  for  death. 

But  while  he  brooded  and  wondered,  turning  stu 
diously  away  from  Robert's  troubled  face,  the  door 


412  SIDNEY. 

opened,  and  some  one  stood  in  the  doorway.  Neither 
of  the  young  men  looked  up,  until  Alan,  realizing 
with  vague  annoyance  that  some  one  was  standing 
behind  him,  turned  and  saw  her.  The  wind  had 
brought  the  wild-rose  color  into  Sidney's  cheeks,  and 
the  snow  had  caught  on  the  rings  of  shining  hair 
upon  her  forehead.  She  looked  like  a  flower  swept 
in  out  of  the  storm.  Her  long  gray  cloak  dropped 
from  her  shoulders,  as  she  unfastened  its  clasp  and 
came  quietly  to  his  side. 

"Alan,  I  have  come,"  she  said. 

Kobert  Steele  started  to  his  feet  with  an  astounded 
exclamation,  but  Alan,  a  sudden  content  smoothing 
the  trouble  and  weariness  from  his  face,  as  the  west 
wind  blows  the  clouds  from  the  serene  and  open 
spaces  of  the  sky,  lifted  his  eyes  to  hers,  without 
speaking.  Sidney  took  his  hand  and  held  it  against 
her  bosom,  stroking  it  softly. 

"Mr.  Steele,"  she  said,  without  a  tremor  or  a 
blush,  and  looking  directly  at  him,  "  I  have  come  to 
marry  Alan."  She  did  not  wait  to  see  Robert  leave 
the  room  ;  it  was  nothing  to  Sidney  if  the  whole 
world  should  see  her  now ;  she  knelt  down  beside 
Alan,  and  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast.  He  heard 
her  whisper  one  word.  Weakened  and  trembling, 
he  could  only  rest  his  cheek  against  her  hair,  with  a 
sob  upon  his  lips. 


XXXI. 

IT  was  just  a  fortnight  later  that  Mrs.  Paul  re 
turned  from  her  first  visit  to  Katherine  and  John, 
—  a  visit  which  was  an  extraordinary  experience  to 
her.  She  had  gone  full  of  plans  for  her  beloved 
Kate's  happiness,  but  they  were  quietly  and  quite 
courteously  ignored.  Katherine,  although  never  un 
kind,  was  quite  indifferent  to  her  husband's  mother. 
Life  was  so  interesting  to  young  Mrs.  Paul  that  she 
no  longer  diverted  herself  by  trying  to  charm  the 
bitter  and  selfish  old  woman.  Mrs.  Paul  was  at  first 
incapable  of  grasping  the  situation,  but  it  dawned 
upon  her  when  Katherine  civilly  acquiesced  in  her 
mother-in-law's  tentative  statement  that  perhaps  she 
had  better  go  back  to  Mercer  ? 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  perhaps  it  is  best.  You  would 
not  want  to  travel  in  the  colder  weather." 

Mrs.  Paul  did  not  understand  her  own  emotions. 
She  still  said  to  herself,  mechanically,  that  Kate  was 
delightful,  and  she  tried  to  adjust  this  speech  to  her 
ideaL  It  was  inconceivable  that  Katherine  did  not 
love  her ;  this  willingness  to  have  her  go  wras  really 
consideration  ;  but  she  felt  sore  and  baffled,  and  a 
forlorn  dismay  began  to  creep  into  her  mind. 

So,  after  all,  it  was  a  relief  to  come  back  to  Mer 
cer.  With  this  new  light  upon  Kate's  character,  it 
would  be  easier  to  talk  about  her  than  to  talk  to 


414  SIDNEY. 

her.  She  wished  that  she  could  have  had  Sally  for 
half  an  hour,  but  Sidney  was  better  than  no  one. 
So,  just  before  tea,  she  bade  Scarlett  step  over  to 
the  other  house,  and  say,  with  Mrs.  Paul's  love, 
"  Will  Miss  Lee  come  in  this  evening  for  a  little 
while?" 

"  She  should  come  without  being  sent  for,"  she 
added  severely ;  "  but  Mortimer  Lee  is  so  selfish  in 
keeping  her  with  him.  He  made  her  neglect  me 
shamefully  in  the  summer,  after  Sally  died." 

She  wondered,  as  she  watched  the  fire  shine  and 
flicker,  how  Mortimer  Lee  would  get  along  without 
Sally's  stupid  goodness.  "  Of  course  he  will  be 
uncomfortable,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  smiled. 

Thus  sitting,  thinking,  Mrs.  Paul  saw  Scarlett 
crossing  the  major's  garden,  and  hurrying  through 
the  doorway  in  the  garden  wall.  A  moment  later 
there  was  a  sound  of  voices  in  the  kitchen.  This 
was  so  unusual  and  so  little  in  accordance  with  Mrs. 
Paul's  theories  that  she  frowned,  and  bent  her  head 
as  though  to  listen ;  but  through  the  green  baize 
door  only  a  muffled  discord  reached  her. 

Scarlett,  in  the  kitchen,  with  her  black  shawl  fall 
ing  off  one  shoulder,  her  small  withered  hands  ges 
ticulating  and  trembling,  was  at  last  talking.  Her 
words  came  fast,  but  Davids,  leaning  against  the 
dresser,  his  arms  folded  and  his  feet  crossed,  ob 
served  her  with  complacent  silence. 

"  What  has  come  to  you  ?  "  demanded  the  woman. 
"  I  've  been  in  the  house  since  noon,  and  you  never 
let  on  to  me.  And  you,  to  hold  your  tongue  five 
hours!" 


SIDNEY.  415 

"  And  how  do  you  like  my  holdin'  my  tongue  ?  " 
inquired  Davids. 

"  That 's  neither  here  nor  there.  There  's  some 
meaning  in  your  head,  or  you  would  n't  be  so  close- 
mouthed.  I  know  you !  " 

Scarlett's  face  was  growing  pale  again,  and  her 
voice  was  steadier.  She  turned  to  take  her  bonnet 
off,  that  she  might  go  to  her  mistress,  but  Davids 
quietly  stepped  in  front  of  the  door,  and  stood,  with 
his  hands  behind  him  rattling  the  knob,  observing 
her  all  the  while  with  intense  satisfaction. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  did  keep  my  mouth  shut,  and 
I  'd  'a'  kep'  it  shut  an  hour  longer  if  it  had  killed 
me,  if  I  'd  'a'  bust,  just  for  a  lesson  to  you.  You 
an'  me  's  lived  in  this  kitchen  pretty  near  twenty- 
five  years,  and  from  the  very  first  you  set  out  to 
keep  a  close  mouth,  an'  you've  done  it.  You've 
never  give  a  bit  of  news  that  you  could  help.  Well, 
it  come  my  turn.  An'  I  made  out  I  could  be  as 
mean  as  you.  I  know  all,  —  all ;  but  I  ain't  got  a 
word  to  say !  " 

Scarlett  looked  at  him  steadily  and  in  silence ; 
then  a  slow  smile  came  about  her  lips.  She  turned 
away  without  a  protest,  to  wait,  with  folded  hands, 
until  he  chose  to  open  the  door.  Her  composure 
made  Davids  furious.  Stammering  with  anger,  he 
moved  unconsciously  out  into  the  room.  As  he  did 
so,  the  small,  gray  woman  slipped  past  him,  and 
escaped  into  the  hall.  In  spite  of  her  self-control, 
however,  she  was  visibly  excited  when  she  opened 
the  drawing-room  door. 

"  Mrs.  Paul"  —  she  began,  177  a  fluttering  breath. 


416  SIDNEY. 

"  What  was  that  disgraceful  noise  in  the  kitchen?  " 
interrupted  her  mistress  sharply. 

"Ma'am,"  cried  Scarlett,  "she  's  married  !  " 

Mrs.  Paul  put  on  her  glasses,  and  looked  at  the 
woman  as  though  she  thought  her  suddenly  insane. 

"  She  's  married  !  "  Scarlett  declared  again.  "  It 's 
two  weeks  to  -  morrow.  And  —  and  —  that  Billy 
Davids!" 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  "  said  Mrs.  Paul. 

Scarlett  breathed  hard  in  the  effort  to  compose 
herself.  "  Miss  Sidney  has  gone  and  got  married, 
and  us  away  I "  Mrs.  Paul  stared  at  her,  with 
parted  lips.  "  Seems  he  was  going  to  die  (he  ain't 
dead  yet,  though  ;  them  doctors  never  die),  and  she 
said  she  'd  have  him ;  and  she  went  to  his  house 
with  a  minister,  —  't  was  n't  Mr.  Brown,  Susan 
said.  Yes,  Miss  Sidney  took  the  preacher  to  him. 
The  major  was  n't  there,  and  nobody  except  Mr. 
Steele.  La,  madam,  you  're  faint  ? "  But  Mrs. 
Paul  motioned  her  to  proceed.  "  She  told  Susan," 
said  Scarlett,  rubbing  her  hands  to  express  her  agi 
tation,  —  "  she  told  Susan  she  was  going  to  get  mar 
ried,  as  —  as  natural  as  if  it  was  n't  anything  more 
than  to  go  and  buy  a  pair  of  gloves,  she  was  so  easy 
saying  it.  Did  n't  seem  to  be  anything  to  her. 
Susan  says  she  ain't  been  home  since,  and  she  says 
the  major  has  n't  seen  her.  He  's  white  mad,  Susan 
says.  And  —  and  —  that  Davids  !  "  she  ended,  her 
voice  breaking  as  she  thought  of  him. 

"  It  is  Alan  Crossan,"  said  Mrs.  Paul,  in  a  low 
voice,  as  though  she  spoke  to  herself. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,   it   is,"    Scarlett   assented  ;    "  and 
he  's  dying." 


SIDNEY.  417 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  broken  only  by 
Scarlett's  hurried  breathing. 

"  Bring  my  writing-table,"  commanded  Mrs.  Paul 
quietly.  The  woman  brought  it,  and  stood  waiting, 
with  excited  curiosity  on  every  feature.  "  You  may 
go,"  said  her  mistress,  looking  up  over  her  glasses  ; 
and  then,  with  the  pen  between  her  fingers,  she 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  thought. 

44  At  last !  "  she  said,  under  her  breath,  —  "  at 
last !  A  righteous  retribution." 

44  My  dear  Major  Lee,"  she  wrote  rapidly,  "  I  hear 
with  pleasure  "  —  No,  that  was  too  crude  to  really 
wound  him.  Sympathy  would  be  a  more  subtile 
thrust.  She  tore  her  letter  across,  and  threw  it  in 
the  fire.  44  How  he  must  suffer  !  "  she  thought,  and 
her  eyes  exulted.  44  And  to  think  that  I  was  not  at 
home  to  see  it  all." 

She  had  forgotten  Katherine  and  her  own  mortifi 
cation.  Such  grievances  were  superficial  when 
placed  beside  this  old  reality,  which  was  as  enduring 
as  a  cruel  rock  that  had  been  hidden,  but  not 
destroyed,  by  a  shining  tide.  It  was  as  though 
Katherine  had  never  existed.  Again  she  tried  to 
write,  but  it  was  impossible.  "I  must  know  first 
how  it  happened,"  she  said  to  herself,  striking  her 
hand  sharply  on  the  table.  u  Of  course  he  is  not 
angry  with  Sidney ;  Susan  is  a  fool ;  but  how  much 
did  he  know  about  it?  How  does  he  feel  towards 
Alan  ?  How  "  —  Endless  questions  came  into  her 
mind,  but  all  bore  upon  Major  Lee's  discomfiture; 
in  her  exultation  she  had  forgotten  Sidney,  save  as 
the  means  by  which  her  father's  wickedness  was 


418  SIDNEY. 

baffled,  and  it  was  with  almost  a  start  of  surprise 
that  she  remembered  that  the  girl  herself  could  best 
give  the  information  she  desired. 

"  How  stupid  !  "  she  said,  frowning.  "  I  should 
have  sent  for  her  at  once  !  "  But,  to  lose  no  further 
time,  she  wrote  a  note,  veiling  her  triumph  with 
only  the  faintest  pretense  of  sympathy  and  congrat 
ulation  together,  and  bidding  Sidney  come  at  once 
to  see  her.  "  Scarlett  will  see  you  home,"  she 
added  in  a  postscript,  "  if,  as  I  suppose,  your  hus 
band  is  unable  to  come  with  yon."  It  was  charac 
teristic  that,  upon  the  receipt  of  Sidney's  brief  mes 
sage  that  she  did  not  wish  to  leave  Alan  and  would 
not  come,  Mrs.  Paul  had  nothing  but  anger  and 
injured  feelings.  "  I  never  saw  so  selfish  a  girl," 
she  said  bitterly. 

That  evening  was  intolerably  long  and  empty.  A 
curious  feeling  of  being  left  out  began  to  intrude 
upon  her  anger.  She  said  to  herself,  "  Why  has  no 
one  told  me  this  ?  Why  did  no  one  write  to  me  ? 
The  world  is  mad  !  "  Her  chagrin  had  in  it  a  sort 
of  terror,  which  she  refused  to  face,  preferring, 
instead,  to  dwell  upon  Mortimer  Lee's  pain.  She 
scarcely  slept  that  night,  and  as  the  gray  Sunday 
morning  widened  into  the  reluctant  day  she  was 
impatient  to  execute  some  of  the  plans  which  had 
occurred  to  her.  First,  she  sent  for  Robert  Steele  ; 
but  his  response  to  her  peremptory  summons  was  a 
curt  note,  begging  to  be  excused.  Scarlett  stood 
watching  her  as  she  read  it,  and  saw  her  lift  her 
head  with  the  air  of  one  who  refuses  to  be  rebuffed  ; 
but  her  voice  trembled  when  she  spoke.  "  Order 


SIDNEY.  419 

the  carriage  at  twelve,"  she  said.  She  had  made  up 
her  mind  ;  she  would  go  directly  to  Mortimer  Lee. 
Of  course  he  would  be  at  home,  and  alone.  He  did 
not  go  to  see  Sidney,  he  had  not  a  friend  in  the 
world,  —  save  herself.  —  and,  wicked  atheist  that  he 
was,  there  was  no  hope  that  he  might  be  in  church. 

"  It  is  very  raw  and  cold,"  Scarlett  observed. 

"  I  said  twelve,"  Mrs.  Paul  answered. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Scarlett.  She  had  done  her 
duty  by  the  protest ;  it  was  nothing  to  her  if  her 
mistress  chose  to  get  sick. 

But  when  twelve  o'clock  came  Mrs.  Paul's  angry 
mortification  insisted  upon  words,  and,  while  Scar 
lett  was  dressing  her,  she  found  fault  with  a  thou 
sand  things  for  the  mere  relief  of  speaking. 

"  Why  can't  you  fasten  my  cloak  without  fum 
bling  about  so?"  she  demanded.  "You  never  try 
to  do  anything  well,  Scarlett ;  you  are  like  all  the 
rest  of  the  world,  and  have  no  gratitude  in  you !  " 
The  woman,  who  had  dropped  on  her  knees  to 
fasten  Mrs.  Paul's  fur-lined  slippers,  made  no  reply. 
"There  is  no  such  thing  as  gratitude,"  continued 
the  other ;  "  there  is  not  a  soul  I  can  depend  upon." 

Scarlett  rose,   her    small,  lean  hands  clasped  in 
~front  of  her,  and  her  passionless  eyes  fixed  upon 
Mrs.  Paul's  face.     "  I  am  not   surprised  that  you 
should  think  so,  madam." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  returned  Mrs.  Paul  con 
temptuously. 

This  simple  question  was  Scarlett's  opportunity ; 
it  was  the  small  and  sputtering  match  which  may 
yet  fire  a  powder  magazine.  She  stepped  back  a 


420  SIDNEY. 

little,  swallowed  once  or  twice,  and  looked  steadily 
at  a  spot  upon  the  wall,  above  Mrs.  Paul's  head. 
She  had  always  meant  to  tell  her  mistress  her  opin 
ion  of  her  ;  as  well  now  as  any  time.  So,  calmly, 
rocking  slightly  back  and  forth  upon  her  heels,  she 
said  monotonously,  "  Because,  madam,  you  are  un 
kind,  even  when  you  do  a  kindness.  You  are  un 
just  and  you  are  bad-tempered.  Mr.  John  could  n't 
stand  it,  and  he  knew  it  would  n't  be  for  edification 
to  bring  his  wife  here  to  live.  We  get  our  deserv- 
ings  in  this  life,  and  you  've  got  what  you  've  earned, 
when  you  find  that  nobody  cares  for  you.  That  is 
my  opinion,  madam." 

Mrs.  Paul  lifted  her  glasses  and  observed  the 
woman  in  silence  for  a  moment,  during  which  Scar 
lett  changed  color,  but  did  not  cease  swaying  back 
and  forth  upon  her  heels,  and  regarding  the  wall 
with  a  tranquil  stare. 

"  Is  the  carriage  ready  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Paul. 

"  Yes,  madam  ;  "  and  without  another  word  they 
went  downstairs. 

In  nearly  sixty  years  of  brilliant  selfishness,  Mrs. 
Paul  had  had  no  friend  who  would  do  for  her  this 
simple  office  of  telling  her  the  truth,  and  it  had  to 
come  at  last  from  the  lips  of  a  servant.  When  the 
carriage  door  closed  and  she  was  alone,  Mrs.  Paul's 
face  was  white. 

Little  Susan  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  heavy  car 
riage  just  before  it  left  the  lane  and  came  rumbling 
into  the  courtyard,  and,  realizing  that  her  master 
was  to  have  a  caller,  she  was  so  grateful  that  she 


SIDNEY.  421 

was  moved  to  tears  when  she  opened  the  door  for 
Mrs.  Paul.  "  Anything,"  thought  Susan,  "  to  get 
him  like  folks." 

The  sight  of  the  old  man  sitting  in  his  library, 
his  white  head  sunk  upon  his  breast,  his  sad  eyes 
watching  the  vacant  moments  drag  themselves  away, 
was  very  distressing  to  Susan.  She  wiped  her  eyes 
frequently  as  she  looked  at  him,  or  as  she  stood  be 
hind  his  chair  in  the  dining-room;  for  the  major 
was  as  careful  as  ever  of  the  details  of  life,  and 
went  through  the  form  of  dining  as  ceremoniously 
as  though  he  had  his  old  household  about  him.  He 
even  tried  to  eat,  because  he  feared  that  the  young 
woman  might  be  distressed  if  he  did  not.  With  the 
instinct  of  a  gentle  heart  he  felt  little  Susan's  un- 
happiness  concerning  him.  Indeed,  the  girl  had 
told  her  mother  that  she  was  that  sorry  for  him  that 
she  did  n't  know  but  what  she  must  go  to  a  more 
cheerful  place.  Susan  went  each  day  to  inquire  for 
"  Miss  Sidney's  husband,"  and,  unasked,  announced 
his  condition  to  the  major  at  tea.  She  could  not 
tell,  she  confided  to  Scarlett,  whether  he  listened  or 
not,  but  she  was  n't  one  to  be  turned  from  her  duty 
by  that.  It  was  natural  that  she  should  say  he  was 
angry.  His  silence,  even  during  Mr.  Steele's  daily 
call  (Susan  knew  that  he  was  silent  then,  she  was  so 
interested  herself,  she  said)  ;  the  fact  that  he  made 
no  inquiries  concerning  his  daughter,  that  he  never 
went  to  her  house,  that  he  did  not  even  write  to  her, 
that  he  had  not  seen  her  since  that  morning  when 
she  had  left  him  to  marry  Alan,  —  what  could  it 
mean  but  anger  ?  To  be  sure,  the  expression  upon 


422  SIDNEY. 

his  face  was  not  exactly  anger,  Susan  thought;  it 
puzzled  her  because  she  could  not  classify  it ;  it  was 
so  pitiful  that  sometimes  she  could  not  bear  to  look 
at  him. 

Mortimer  Lee  had  grown  suddenly  and  awfully 
old,  in  these  weeks  since  Sidney's  marriage ;  the 
shock  of  her  grief  had  shaken  the  very  foundations 
of  his  life.  That  strange  confusion  which  befogged 
his  senses  the  night  he  went  to  look  at  Gertrude's 
picture  lingered  still  in  his  thoughts.  His  daugh 
ter's  grief  seemed  to  be  his  own,  not  hers.  He  lived 
over  again  the  old  despair  of  more  than  twenty  years 
ago,  and  then,  with  a  start,  realized  that  Sidney  was 
waiting  for  pain  which  had  not  reached  her  yet. 
Kobert  told  him  once,  hesitatingly,  how  calm  and 
even  glad  Sidney  was.  The  old  man  made  no 
reply.  Sorrow  had  not  come  yet;  a  false  excite 
ment  upheld  her,  the  exhilaration  of  present  joy 
blinded  her ;  the  terror  would  but  be  the  greater 
when  it  came.  It  was  for  that  he  waited ;  then  he 
would  go  to  her.  As  for  seeing  her  before  that  mo 
ment  when  she  should  need  him,  it  never  occurred 
to  him.  This  rending  of  the  bone  and  marrow,  this 
parting  of  two  souls,  was  not  for  his  eyes.  Sitting 
here  in  his  library,  alone,  night  after  night,  without 
even  the  friendly  companionship  of  his  books,  it 
seemed  as  though,  with  exceeding  pity,  his  very  soul 
wept. 

And  so  the  days  passed.  Alan,  his  hand  held  in 
his  wife's,  was  going  out  into  the  Unknown.  Sid 
ney  went  step  by  step  beside  him,  straining  her  eyes 
into  the  darkness  of  the  future,  shuddering  lest  at 


SIDNEY.  423 

any  moment  her  feet  should  touch  the  first  wave  of 
that  dark  stream  upon  which  she  must  let  him  ven 
ture  forth  alone,  and  yet  walking  with  a  lofty  seren 
ity  and  peace  which  astounded  the  dying  man.  His 
own  mystery  of  death  was  not  half  so  great  to  Alan 
as  was  Sidney's  mystery  of  life.  He  watched  her 
with  a  sort  of  awe.  Every  instant  was  appreciation, 
every  moment  a  jewel,  which  the  divine  caress  of 
consciousness  held  in  this  light  and  in  that,  that  110 
gleam  of  its  beauty  might  be  lost.  Her  lovely  joy 
was  set  in  grief,  but  there  was  no  terror  in  it.  They 
talked  much  of  her  assurance,  but  it  seemed  to  Alan 
only  words. 

"  God  is  enough  for  pain,"  she  had  told  him. 
"  Love  is  possible  and  beautiful,  even  though  its 
flower  is  grief,  because  it  grows  from  the  heart  of 
the  Purpose  of  the  universe,  because  it  is  folded 
about  by  God." 

"  Don't  you  understand  me,  Alan  ? "  she  said 
once,  wistfully.  He  put  his  thin  white  hand  under 
her  chin,  and  looked  down  into  her  tranquil  eyes. 

"It  does  not  seem  probable  that  I  do,"  he  an 
swered,  smiling.  "  I  do  not  very  often  understand 
myself  —  but  I  am  glad." 

Perhaps  he  was  too  weak  to  take  her  wider  view ; 
perhaps  the  exceeding  simplicity  of  dying  brought 
back  the  older  thoughts,  his  mother's  teachings  of 
so  long  ago,  and  he  rested  in  them  with  great  con 
tent  ;  but  he  was  glad  for  Sidney.  Once  he  asked 
her,  with  a  pause  here  and  there  between  his  words, 
of  her  hope  for  the  future. 

"  I  cannot  grasp  your  —  willingness  not  to  know. 
You  do  not  expect  to  see  me  again  ?  " 


424  SIDNEY. 

"  If  it  is  best,"  she  answered,  her  voice  quivering 
into  calmness  ;  "  but  it  will  be  best,  either  way. 
There  is  no  death,  —  never  any  death  !  It  is  all 
life  ;  we  came  from  it,  and  we  go  back  into  it  again. 
Oh,  Alan,  we  both  belong  to  life ;  it  is  in  it  that  we 
are  really  and  truly  one." 

Afterwards,  when  he  had  been  lying  silently  for  a 
long  time,  he  looked  up  at  her,  with  a  smile  flicker 
ing  in  his  eyes.  "  But  I  —  shall  not  be  I  ?  "  he  said, 
with  pitiful  gentleness. 

"  God  is,"  she  answered.  "  Oh,  I  cannot  let  go 
of  that  one  moment." 

Their  two  lives  shut  out  the  rest  of  the  world. 
They  saw  Robert  Steele  come  and  go  with  the  same 
indifference  to  a  necessity  with  which  they  saw  light 
and  darkness.  Appreciation  of  moments  may  turn 
a  day  into  a  year,  and  these  months  together  held 
the  experiences  of  a  lifetime.  Sidney's  conscious 
ness  of  the  pervading  God  took  no  definite  shape, 
although  she  felt  that  she  could  not  have  lived  with 
out  such  consciousness.  As  a  star  opens  its  bosom 
to  the  sun  that  it  may  fill  itself  with  light  for  the 
coining  darkness,  Sidney  absorbed  the  present.  It 
was  at  this  time  that  she  prayed,  dumbly,  not  for 
Alan's  life,  not  for  strength  to  bear  her  coming  sor 
row,  but  for  more,  and  more,  and  more  God  !  There 
were  no  words  in  this  outcry  of  her  soul  to  Him 
who  gave  words,  and  needeth  not  that  any  should 
tell  Him.  Deep  was  calling  unto  deep,  —  existence 
was  itself  a  prayer. 

She  told  Alan  all  this,  as  he  could  listen  to  it  ; 
and  once  he  said  to  her,  "  Yes,  yes,  I  know,  and  I 


SIDNEY.  425 

am  glad.  Only  remember  —  will  you,  Sidney  ?  — 
that  I  am  sure  of  the  rest,  of  the  future  ?  I  am 
sure  of  it.  I  have  come  back  to  the  old  familiar 
things,  Christ  and  heaven  (that  means  having  you 
again  !  )  ;  they  are  easier  to  think  about  than  this  ab 
straction,  and  I  believe  they  are  just  what  you  have 
found,  by  another  name.  No,  I  don't  reason ;  I 
trust.  It  is  your  attitude,  only  I  go  a  step  further 
than  you."  And  then,  later,  "  Sometimes  it  seems 
to  me,  do  you  know,  that  for  me  to  go  on  ahead  is 
just  to  teach  you  to  take  that  step.  And  you  won't 
forget  that  —  I  am  sure  ?  " 

Sidney's  thought  of  her  father  in  these  beautiful 
days  was  only  that  "  he  understood."  Major  Lee 
knew  that  she  felt  this  ;  it  would  have  been  profane 
had  either  of  them  insisted  upon  it  by  words.  Thus 
they  waited :  Sidney  for  a  deeper  glory,  her  father 
for  the  inevitable  night. 

That  Sunday  when  Mrs.  Paul's  carriage  came 
across  the  creaking  snow  in  the  courtyard,  the  major 
had  been  brooding  over  this  strange  pause  in  his 
life,  realizing  with  pathetic  patience  that  even  when 
it  ended,  when  Alan  died  and  his  daughter  came 
back  to  him  again,  life  could  not  be  as  it  had  been. 
His  dim  eyes  burned  as  this  cruel  thought  struck 
upon  his  heart ;  the  insolence  of  time  is  like  a  blow 
in  the  face  from  an  unseen  enemy. 

"  There  is  no  help  for  it,"  he  was  saying  to  him 
self.  He  was  so  absorbed  that  he  did  not  under 
stand  Susan's  summons  to  the  parlor,  or  hear  the 
name  she  gave,  so  the  girl  had  to  speak  again,  plead- 


426  SIDNEY. 

ingly :  "  She 's  in  the  parlor,  sir,  waitin'.     I  put  a 
match  to  the  fire,  but  it 's  cold  in  there." 

"  She  ?  "  said  the  old  man  vaguely.  "  Where  ?  " 
and  then  brushed  past  her  in  tremulous  haste.  Sid 
ney  had  come.  But  why  had  she  waited ;  was 
Alan  — 

The  shock  of  seeing  Mrs.  Paul,  shivering  in  her 
furs,  upon  the  yellow  satin  sofa  was  almost  a  phys 
ical  pain.  He  had  no  words.  But  Mrs.  Paul  sup 
plied  them  ;  her  voice  was  full  of  fine  anxiety. 

"  My  dear  Major  Lee,  pray  what  is  this  about 
Sidney?  I  was  so  shocked,  so  concerned.  Such  a 
tragedy  for  the  poor  girl !,  Pray  tell  me  how  you 
could  have  permitted  such  a  thing  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  but  seemed  to  look  beyond 
her,  as  though  he  were  unconscious  of  her  presence. 
The  change  in  his  face  since  she  had  seen  him  last 
awed  but  could  not  silence  her. 

"  She  has  grieved  you,  I  know,"  she  began  to  say, 
"  but  her  disobedience  will  bring  its  own  punish 
ment  ;  you  can  only  pity  and  forgive  her.  And  the 
selfishness  of  the  young  man  —  but  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Not  here,  —  not  here,"  interposed  Mortimer 
Lee,  still  gazing  above  her,  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room. 

She  turned,  following  his  eyes,  to  meet  those  of 
the  portrait,  beautiful,  disdainful,  and,  as  she 
thought  with  sudden  fury,  triumphant.  Standing  at 
the  feet  of  this  dead  woman,  she  saw  the  source  of 
all  her  bitterness,  her  selfishness,  her  cruelty,  —  saw 
it  with  futile  rage  at  her  own  helplessness  in  the 
hand  of  Fate.  She  had  been  robbed  by  this  young 


SIDNEY.  427 

creature,  and  she  had  tried  to  hide  the  desolation  of 
her  heart  by  worldliness  and  selfishness.  Her  loss 
had  turned  to  evil  everything  which  was  good  ;  and 
then,  as  though  that  were  not  cruel  enough,  An 
nette  had  been  taken  away.  Her  own  son  did  not 
love  her  ;  Katherine  cared  nothing  for  her  ;  Sidney 
had  forgotten  her ;  her  very  servant  despised  hei\ 
She  looked  again  at  Mortimer  Lee,  still  staring  at  the 
picture.  "  Yes,  not  here,"  she  repeated,  "  not  here !  " 
(It  was  strange  to  see  how  simple  the  primal  pas 
sion  of  humanity  made  these  two  souls.)  She  mo 
tioned  him  to  give  her  his  arm.  "  I  came,"  she  said, 
—  "I  came,  but  I  will  go  away ;  yes,  I  will  go 
away  I  "  Her  voice  broke. 

Without  a  word,  the  major  led  her  to  her  carriage. 
He  bowed,  and  stood,  the  cold  wind  blowing  his 
white  hair  about,  watching  the  carriage  circle  around 
the  snow-covered  lawn,  and  disappear  down  the  lane. 
Then  he  went  back,  and  stood  before  the  portrait. 

"  It  was  the  only  thing  I  ever  kept  from  you,  Ger 
trude,"  he  said  feebly ;  "  but  she  has  come  and 
shown  it  to  you  herself.  You  would  not  have  had 
me  tell  you  such  a  thing  ?  But  she  has  told  you  "  — 

After  the  shock  of  that  interview  the  confusion  of 
Mortimer  Lee's  thoughts  passed  away.  His  pro 
found  dismay  settled  into  a  certain  tranquillity  of 
waiting.  He  was  gathering  up  his  strength  to  meet 
Sidney's  need  of  it,  when  the  day  should  come. 

And  so  the  winter  failed,  and  fainted  into  the 
hesitating  spring.  Robert  Steele  came  every  even 
ing  to  tell  him  of  Alan ;  they  never  spoke  of  Sid 
ney.  But  one  day  in  March  he  did  not  come,  and  a 


428  SIDNEY. 

strange  excitement  grew  in  Mortimer  Lee's  face. 
"  It  is  near,"  he  said  to  himself.  It  was  ;  very  near. 
He  did  not  go  to  the  bank  the  next  morning  ;  he 
must  be  at  home  to  know  when  Sidney  needed  him. 

All  that  morning  he  sat  in  his  library  in  tense  ex 
pectancy.  In  the  early  afternoon  came  a  note  from 
Robert  Steele.  "Not  yet,  not  yet,"  the  old  man 
said  ;  longing  for  the  blow  to  fall,  that  his  own  work 
of  tenderness  might  begin.  The  windy  March  sky 
lifted  and  lightened  towards  sunset,  and  all  along 
behind  the  hills  the  clear  and  lucent  air,  yellow  as  a 
topaz,  faded  up  into  pale  violet  under  the  torn 
fringes  of  the  clouds.  Mortimer  Lee  stood,  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  looking  out  at  the  peace  of  the 
coming  night ;  but  he  turned  at  the  sound  of  the 
opening  door,  and  Sidney  came  swiftly  to  his  arms. 

The  room  had  darkened  in  the  fading  light,  but 
he  could  see  the  change  in  her  face ;  not  age,  but 
living,  had  marked  it.  That  ecstasy  shone  in  her 
eyes  which  is  the  realization  of  the  Infinite,  and  may 
be  called  either  joy  or  grief,  as  both  are  one  in  it. 

"  I  have  come  to  tell  you,"  he  heard  her  say,  "  it 
is  over,  my  life.  But  I  am  glad  to  have  lived. 
Oh,  I  am  glad  !  " 

"Alan?  —  " 

"  Yes ;  yet  I  am  a  happy  woman.  Father,  I 
wanted  you  to  know  that  I  was  happy !  It  is  joy, 
father  ! " 

He  held  her  fast  in  his  trembling  arms,  and  his 
tears  fell  upon  her  head.  But  Sidney's  eyes  were 
clear.  She  raised  her  face,  and  it  was  she  who  was 
the  comforter.  "  It  is  worth  while,"  she  said  ten- 


SIDNEY.  429 

derly.  His  grief  moved  her  as  her  own  had  not ; 
a  flood  of  tears,  as  natural  and  unrestrained  as  a 
child's,  shook  her  from  head  to  foot.  "  He  is  dead, 
but  he  has  lived.  He  is  mine,  always.  Oh,  it  is 
worth  while,  —  it  is  worth  while  ;  the  past  is  ours, 
and  aU  is  — God!" 

Then  they  went  back  again  together  to  Alan's 
side. 

Sidney's  life  afterwards  was  as  though  into  a  dead 
body  had  come  a  living  soul. 

The  old  circumstances  remained,  the  old  possibil 
ities,  but  the  spirit  which  animated  them  was  a  new 
spirit.  She  and  her  father  drew  closer  and  closer 
together,  the  old  love  greater  for  the  new  love. 
She  was  strangely  calm  and  content ;  entering 
deeper  into  that  Refuge  which  had  revealed  itself 
to  her,  and  losing  her  life  daily  in  the  lives  of 
others ;  yet  never  limiting  her  peace  by  denning  it, 
nor  daring  to  imprison  it  within  a  creed. 

Mrs.  Paul  called  her  an  infidel. 

Robert  Steele,  feeling  vaguely  that  Sidney,  reli 
gious,  without  a  religion,  drew  her  strength  from  the 
same  source  as  did  he,  absorbed  in  the  wonderful 
ritual  of  the  most  detailed  religion  in  the  world,  yet 
prayed  for  her  salvation  with  the  anguished  fear  of 
the  consistent  Christian  who  hears  his  Lord  denied. 

The  major  only  waited. 

"  It  cannot  last,"  he  said  to  himself  sadly ;  "  it  is 
unreal.  And  when  it  breaks  down  —  even  I  cannot 
help  her !  "  Oh,  the  cruelty  of  love !  " 

And  still  he  waited. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


20c'56jLJg 


RET/P 


LD  21-100m-2,'55 
(B139s22)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


YB  74436 


9S6" 

410201          3)357 

5 


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